sci. 


THE  REOITEK'S  LIBEAEY^  APRIL,  1899. 


No.  4. 


UH  ^ 


ELAVD  T.POWER 


WINER'S 


EDGAR  S  WERNER 

NEW   YORK 


Published  Monthly  at  $3.50  a  Year 

SINGLE        OP.   Cents 
NUMBERS  OD   ^enxs 

Pub.  Office,  108  E.  i6th  St.,  New   York 


1PYRICHT,    1898,       B 


Y     EDGAR      S.     WERNER 


Kit  rjddll 


Entered  at  New  Vo 


FRANCES  E.  WILLARD  Recitation  Book. 

(WERNER'S  READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS,  No.  18.) 

WITH    PORTRAIT    AND    SKETCH    or  MISS     WILLARD. 

GREATEST    TEMPERANCE   RECITATION    BOOK.     A  Book  for  every 

friend  of  Miss  Willard,  for  every  apostle  of  temperance,  and  for  every  public  reader- 

CONTENTS 


American  Home,  The.    George  W.  Bain. 
Archfiend  of  Nations,  The.    Talmage. 
Banish  the  Snakes. 

Before  and  Behind.    Abbott  Lawrence. 
Break  the  Bottle.    John  G.  Woolley. 
Oassio's  Lost  Reputation.    Shakespeare. 
Churches  and  Saloons.    Bishop  Hurst 
Citizen  and    the  Saloon   System,  The. 

Samuel  Dickie. 
"  Come  Out  from  among  Them.      Mrs. 

Mary  T.  Lathrap. 
Conscience  in  Politics.    Dr.  I.  K.  Funk 
Constitutional  Prohibition.    J.  B.  Finch. 
Cup  of  Water,  A.    Julia  M.  Bennett, 
Curse  of   Drink,   The.    Talmage. 
Deacon  Giles's  Distillery.  G.B.  Cheever. 
Deadly  Cup.  The. 

Death  of  King  Edmund.    Sigourney. 

Dragon  Drink,  The.    E.  Murray. 

Dramshop  or  the  Republic,  The.    Mrs. 
Mary  T.  Lathrap. 

Drunkard's  Dream,  The. 

Drunkard' s Repentance,  A.  W.  W  Piatt. 

Fallacy  of  High  License,  The.    Willard. 

Fought  and  Won.    M.  A.  Maitland. 

Fountain  of  Crime,  The     Judge  Horton. 

Frances  E.  Willard.    May  P.  Slosson. 

Franc  -s  E.  Willard  Exercise.    Rev.  W. 

"  OefoS of  My  Shop  ! "    J.  E.  Munson. 
Girls  Don't  Marry  a  Drunkard. 
God  in  Government.  Mrs.  M.  T.  Lathrap. 
God's  Clock   Strikes!     G^F.  Pentecost. 
Go  Forward  to  Victory.    Dr.  IK.  Funk. 
Good,  Great  Name,  A.    FE.  Willard. 
Greatest  Party,  The.    F.  E  Wnlard. 
High  License.     Mrs.  Clara  Hoffman 
Home  Protection.    Frances  E.  Willard. 
How  to  Succeed.    T.  C.  Richmond. 
I  Have  No  Influence?.         .    ,.     „  .  „ 
Individuality  of  Conscience  in  the  Voter. 

Frances  E.  Willard. 
In  Satan's  Council-Chamber.  Willard. 
"I  Will  Not  Drink."  J.  Wriggles  worth. 
Keep  the  Record  Clean !  Mrs.  Requa. 
King  Alcohol's  Soliloquy.  H.  A.  Sawyer. 
Lament  of  the  Widowed  Inebriate.    A. 

H.  J.  Duganne. 

Liquor  or  Liberty  ?  Rev  .  W  F  Craft. 
Mother's  Prayer  Capt.  J- Crawford. 
National    Constitution  and   Kum,  The. 

Nee'd^for6 a  Prohibition  Party.    Gough. 
Need  of  Heroism  To  day    AM  wyhe. 
New  Party  Needed,  A.    John  B.  E  men. 
New  Slavery,  The. 


On  Heights  of  Power.    F.  E.  Willard 
On  Which  Side  Are  You  ?  F.  E.  Willard. 
Our  Duty.    Rev.  Joseph  Cook. 
Parties.    Frances  E.  Willard. 
Paving  the  Streets.  Mrs.  L.  G.  McVean. 
Price  of  High  License,  The.  A.J.  Water- 

hous© . 
Prohibition  in  Kansas.  Hon.  J.  J.  Ingalls. 
Prohibition  Party  a  Necessity,  A.    Rev. 

A.  B.  Leonard. 
Prohibition  Song   of  Good  Fellowship. 

Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney. 
Prohibition's     Bugle    Call.     Mrs.   Lide 

Meriwether.  ^         . 

Prohibition's  Might.     R.  L.  Bruce. 
Promises  and  the  Perils  of  Temperance 

Reform,  The.    Rev.  Joseph  Cook. 
Reason  off  Duty.    E.  S.  Loomis. 
Reveler's  Dream,  The.  Charles  Mackay. 
Rum  Every  where. 

Saloon  in  Politics,  The     Gen.  C  B.  Fisk. 
Saloon  in  Relation  to  Morals,  The.    Rev. 

George  F.  Pentecost. 
Saloons  Must  Go.    Frances  E.  Willard. 

Music  by  Charles  T.  Kimball. 
Some  Delusions  of  High  License.    Rev. 

Herrick  Johnson.  . 

Spare  the  Youth.     Letitia  W.  Brosius. 
Spider  and  the  Fly.  The. 
Tarn  O'Shanter.    Robert  Burns. 
Temperance  Alphabet.  wn-ifl 

Temperance    Enlightening  the   World. 

Rev.  George  Lansing  Taylor 
Temperance  Pledge, The.  T.  F.Marshall. 
Three  Topers.     Hyde  Parker.         „.     „, 
"Thy  Kingdom  Come."     Lady  Henry 

Somerset.  . 

Toast,  The.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Toast- Master,  The. 
Two  Annies,  The.    E.A.Hughes. 
Two  Glasses,  The.  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 
Union  of  North  and  South,  The.  Willard. 
Upas  Tree,  The.    Mrs.  L  H.  Sigourney. 
Verdict,  The.    Mrs.  J.  P.  Ballard. 
Vice  of  Intemperance,  The.    Everett. 
Voter's  Responsibility,  The.    Demorest 
Vote  the  Traffic  Down.     J.  P   St.  Join 
Water-Drinker,  The.    Edward  Johnsor 
What  Intemperance  Does.    Scudder. 
What  is  Temperance  ?    L.  B.  Coles. 
White  Ribbon,  The.    Hattie  F.  crocke 
Why  I  Object  to  High  License.   Turne 
Why  Should  I  Sign  the  Pledge  ?    Mrs.  i 

M    I    H6nry. 
Whv  Woman  Wants  the  Ballot.    Brehm 
Widening  Horizon,  The.    F.  E.  Willarf 
Will  it  Pay  ?    Mrs.  Mary  T.  Lathrap. . 
Woman  in  Temperance.  F.  E  Willar' 
World's  Problem,  The.  Mrs.M.C.Leav 
Worn-out  Parties,  The.    F.  E.  Willar 


PRICE     35   CENTS   IN    PAPER;    60    CENTS    IN    CLOTH,    POST-PAID. 

EDGAR    S.    WERNER,  Publisher,  108  East  16tu  St.,  New 


WERNER'S 


Readings  and  Recitations 


No.  11 


WORLD    CLASSICS 


COMPILED  AND    ARRANGED   BY 

SARA  SIGOURNEY  RICE 


Sfck. 


NEW  YORK 

EDGAR   S.    WERNER 

1899 


Copyright,  1893, 

BY 

EDGAR  S.  WERNER. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

3attle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice. — Pigres 13 

Battle  of  Waterloo,  The. — Victor  Hugo 163 

Baucis  and  Philemon. — Jonathan  Swift 120 

Beatrice.     From  "Divine   Comedy." — Dante  Alighieri 67 

Besieged  Castle,  The. — Walter  Scott * 153 

Birds,  The. — Aristophanes 19 

Boadicea. — William  Cowper 128 

Jombat  between  Paris  and  Menelaus. — Homer 7 

Comedy  of  Errors. — William  Shakespeare 107 

Council  of  the  Rats,  The. — Jean  de  la  Fontaine 117 

)estruction  of  Troy,  The. — Publius  Virgilius  Maro 21 

)houlkarnain. — From  the  "  Koran  " 27 

)on  Quixote  and  the  Huntress.— Miguel  de  Cervantes-Saavedra.  103 

)orcas  and  Gregory. — Moliere 113 

Edward  II. — Christopher  Marlowe 97 

moch  Arden. — Alfred  Tennyson 186 

Eve's  Mirror. — John  Milton , 112 

'east  of  Roses,  The. — Thomas  Moore 157 

[ermann  and  Dorothea.— Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe 135 

[ow  Lisa  Loved  the  King. — George  Eliot 170 

low  Siegfried  was  Slain.— From  the  "  Nibelungen  Lied  " 55 

p  the  Name  of  God,  the  Compassionate,  the  Merciful. — From 

the  "Koran  " 25 

?abella,  or  the  Pot  of  Basil.— John  Keats 149 

ady  of  Vain  Delight,  The.— Giles  Fletcher 62 

egend  of  Aino,  The.— From  the  "  Kalevala  " 28 

fary  Stuart. — Johann  Christoph  Friedrich  von  Schiller 129 

ak  and  the  Briere,  The.— Edmund  Spenser 94 

lalamon  and  Arcite. — Geoffrey  Chaucer 76 

y 

Jo 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGH 

Pontius  Pilate. — Edwin  Arnold 19 

Race,  The.— Lyof  Tolstoi , 19 

Rape  of  the  Lock,  The. — Alexander  Pope t 12 

Richelieu. — Edward  George  Earle  Bulwer-Lytton 17 

Scripture  Etchings  for  Arbor  Day 

Shepherd's  Song,  The. — Torquato  Tasso g 

Siege  of  Corinth,  The. — George  Gordon  Noel  Byron 14 

Siege  of  Zamora,  The.— From  the"  Cid" 7 

Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,  1687,  A. — John  Dryden 11 

Sophronia  and  Olindo. — From  "  Jerusalem  Delivered." — Tor- 
quato Tasso 8 

Tree  of  Life,  The.— Bible 

Triumph  of  Hector,  The. — Homer 

Una  and  the  Red  Cross  Knight. — Edmund  Spenser 9 

Who'll  Buy  My  Love  Knots. — Thomas  Moore 16 

Wooing  of  the  Maid  of  Beauty. — From  the  "  Kalevala  " 3 


INDEX  TO  AUTHORS, 


PAGE. 

Uighieri  Dante 

Lristophanes 

Arnold,  Edwin ■ "  iy° 

3ible,  The,  Extracts  from *>       » 

Byron,  George  Gordon  Noel 

bhaucer,  Geoffrey..... * 

bid,  The,  Extract  from 7* 

owper,  William ■ 

Dryden,  John.. 

Eliot,  George 1'" 

Fletcher,  Giles °* 

Fontaine,  Jean  de  la *  ' 

Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von 13^ 

Homer ' 

Hugo,  Victor Xf3 

Kalevala,  The,  Extracts  from 28>     37 

Keats,  John 

Koran,  The,  Extracts  from 25>     27 

Lytton,  Edward  George  Bulwer 174 

Marlowe,  Christopher •••• 

Milton,  John ■ ^ 

Moliere V? 

Moore,  Thomas 157'  162 

Nibelungen  Lied,  The,  Extract  from 55 

Pope,  Alexander. 

Saavedra,  Miguel  de  Cervantes 1°3 


vi  INDEX  TO  AUTHORS. 

PAGE. 

Schiller,  Johann  Christoph  Friedrich  von 129 

Scott,  Walter 153 

Shakespeare,  William 107 

Spenser,  Edmund 90,  94 

Swift,  Jonathan 120 

Tasso,  Torquato 83,  89 

Tennyson,  Alfred 186 

Tolstoi,  Lyof ....V....... 194 

Virgil 21 


WERNER'S 

Readings  and    Recitations. 


No.  11 


WORLI)     CLASSICS. 


THE  TREE  OF  LIFE. 


GENESIS 


AND  the  Lord  God  planted  a  garden  eastward  in  Eden ;  and 
there  He  put  the  man  whom  He  had  formed.  And  out  of  the 
ground  made  the  Lord  God  to  grow  every  tree  that  is  pleasant  to 
the  sight  and  good  for  food ;  the  tree  of  life  also  in  the  midst  of 
the  garden,  and  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil. 

And  the  Lord  God  took  the  man  and  put  him  into  the  garden 
of  Eden,  to  dress  it  and  to  keep  it.  And  the  Lord  God  com- 
manded the  man,  saying  :  "  Of  every  tree  of  the  garden  thou  may- 
est  freely  eat.  But  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 
thou  shalt  not  eat  of  it ;  for  in  the  day  that  thou  eatest  thereof 
thou  shalt  surely  die." 

And  the  Lord  God  said :  "It  is  not  good  that  the  man  should  be 
alone :  I  will  make  him  a  helpmeet  for  him."  And  the  Lord  God 
caused  a  deep  sleep  to  fall  upon  Adam,  and  he  slept ;  and  He  took 
one  of  his  ribs,  and  closed  up  the  flesh  instead  thereof.  And  the 
rib,  which  the  Lord  God  had  taken  from  man,  made  He  a  woman, 
and  brought  her  unto  the  man. 

Now  the  serpent  was  more  subtile  than  any  beast  of  the  field 
which  the  Lord  God  had  made ;  and  he  said  unto  the  woman  J 


2  WERNERS  READINGS 

"  Yea,  hath  God  said,  ye  shall  not  eat  of  every  tree  of  the  gar- 
den ? " 

And  the  woman  said  unto  the  serpent :  "  We  may  eat  of  the 
fruit  of  the  trees  of  the  garden.  But  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree 
which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  garden,  God  hath  said,  ye  shall  not 
eat  of  it,  neither  shall  ye  touch  it  lest  ye  die." 

And  the  serpent  said  unto  the  woman :  "Ye  shall  not  surely 
die ;  for  God  doth  know  that  in  the  day  ye  eat  thereof,  then  youi 
eyes  shall  be  opened ;  and  ye  shall  be  as  gods,  knowing  good  and 
evil." 

And  when  the  woman  saw  that  the  tree  was  good  for  food,  and 
that  it  was  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  and  a  tree  to  be  desired  to  make 
one  wise,  she  took  of  the  fruit  thereof,  and  did  eat ;  and  gave  also 
unto  her  husband  with  her,  and  he  did  eat.  And  they  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Lord  God  walking  in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the 
day ;  and  Adam  and  his  wife  hid  themselves  from  the  presence  of 
the  Lord  God  amongst  the  trees  of  the  garden. 

And  the  Lord  God  called  unto  Adam,  and  said  unto  him: 
"  Where  art  thou  ?  Hast  thou  eaten  of  the  tree  whereof  I  com- 
manded thee  that  thou  shouldest  not  eat  ?" 

And  the  man  said :  "  The  woman  whom  Thou  gavest  to  be  with 
me,  she  gave  me  of  the  tree,  and  I  did  eat." 

And  the  Lord  God  said  unto  the  woman :  "  What  is  this  that 
thou  hast  done  ?  " 

And  the  woman  said:  "The  serpent  beguiled  me,  and  I  did 
eat." 

And  the  Lord  God  said  unto  the  serpent :  "  Because  thou  hast 
done  this,  thou  art  cursed  above  all  cattle  and  above  every  beast 
of  the  field."  Unto  the  woman  He  said  :  "  I  will  greatly  multiply 
thy  sorrow."  And  unto  Adam  He  said:  "Because  thou  hast  heark- 
ened unto  the  voice  of  thy  wife  and  hast  eaten  of  the  tree  of  which 
I  commanded  thee,  saying,  '  Thou  shalt  not  eat  of  it,'  cursed  is 
the  ground  for  thy  sake ;  in  sorrow  shalt  thou  eat  of  it  all  the  days 
of  thy  life.  Thorns  also  and  thistles  shall  it  bring  forth  to  thee, 
and  thou  shalt  eat  the  herb  of  the  field.  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face 
ghalt  thou  eat  bread,  till  thou  return  unto  the  ground ;  for  out  of 


AND  RECITATIONS.  3 

it  wast  thou  taken ;  for  dust  thou  art,  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou 
return." 

Therefore,  the  Lord  God  sent  him  forth  from  the  garden  of  Eden 
to  till  the  ground  from  whence  he  was  taken.  So  He  drove  out 
the  man,  and  He  placed  at  the  east  of  the  garden  of  Eden  cheru- 
bim, and  a  flaming  sword  which  turned  every  way,  to  keep  the 
way  of  the  tree  of  life. 


SCRIPTURE     ETCHINGS    FOR    ARBOR 

DAY. 


T  ET  the  field  be  joyful,  and  all  that  is  therein ;  then  shall  all 
h~*  the  trees  of  the  wood  rejoice.  For  he  shall  be  as  a  tree 
planted  by  the  waters  and  that  spreadeth  out  her  roots  by  the  river, 
and  shall  not  see  when  heat  cometh,  but  her  leaf  shall  be  green ; 
and  shall  not  be  careful  in  the  year  of  drought,  neither  shall  cease 
from  yielding  fruit. 

The  glory  of  Lebanon  shall  come  unto  thee,  the  fir  tree,  the  pine 
tree,  and  the  box  together  to  beautify  the  place  of  my  sanctuary ; 
and  I  will  make  the  place  of  my  feet  glorious. 

A  parable  put  He  forth  unto  them,  saying,  The  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  like  to  a  grain  of  mustard  seed',  which  a  man  took,  and 
sowed  in  his  field,  which  indeed  is  the  least  of  all  seeds ;  but  when 
it  is  grown,  it  is  the  greatest  among  herbs,  and  becometh  a  tree,  so 
that  the  birds  of  the  air  come  and  lodge  in  the  branches  thereof. 

The  righteous  shall  flourish  like  the  palm  tree ;  he  shall  grow 
like  a  cedar  in  Lebanon. 

And  the  king  made  silver  to  be  in  Jerusalem  as  stones,  and 
cedars  made  he  to  be  as  the  sycamore  trees  which  are  in  the  vale 
for  abundance. 

They  shall  not  build,  and  another  inhabit ;  they  shall  not  plant, 
and  another  eat ;  for  as  the  days  of  a  tree  are  the  days  of  my 
people,  and  mine  elect  shall  long  enjoy  the  work  of  their  hands. 


4  WERNERS  READINGS 

Then  shall  all  the  trees  of  the  wood  sing  out  at  the  presence  of 
the  Lord,  because  He  cometh  to  judge  the  earth.  For  He  shall  go 
out  with  joy,  and  be  led  forth  with  peace ;  the  mountains  and  the 
hills  shall  break  forth  in  singing,  and  all  the  trees  of  the  woods 
shall  clap  their  hands. 

And  all  the  trees  of  the  field  shall  know  that  I,  the  Lord,  have 
brought  down  the  high  tree,  have  exalted  the  low  tree,  have  dried 
up  the  green  tree,  and  have  made  the  dry  tree  to  flourish. 

Instead  of  the  thorn  shall  come  up  the  fir  tree,  and  instead  of  the 
brier  shall  come  up  the  myrtle  tree,  and  it  shall  be  to  the  Lord  for 
a  name,  for  an  everlasting  sign  that  shall  not  be  cut  off. 

And  the  man  that  stood  among  the  myrtle  trees  answered  and 
said :  "  These  are  they  whom  the  Lord  hath  sent  to  walk  to  and 
fro  through  the  earth." 

When  thou  shalt  besiege  a  city  a  long  time  by  making  war 
against  it  to  take  it,  thou  shalt  not  destroy  the  trees  thereof  by 
forcing  an  axe  against  them,  for  thou  mayest  eat  of  them,  and 
thou  shalt  not  cut  them  down  to  employ  them  in  a  siege,  for  the 
tree  of  the  field  is  man's  life. 

To  appoint  unto  them  that  mourn  in  Zion,  to  give  unto  them 
beauty  for  ashes,  the  oil  of  joy  for  nourishing,  the  garment  of 
praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness,  that  they  might  be  called  trees  of 
righteousness;  the  planting  of  the  Lord,  that  He  might  be  glorified. 

And  he  shall  be  like,  a  tree  planted  by  the  rivers  of  water,  that 
bringeth  forth  his  fruit  in  his  season;  his  leaf  also  shall  not 
wither,  and  whatsoever  he  doeth  shall  prosper. 

How  goodly  are  thy  tents,  0  Jacob,  and  thy  tabernacles,  0 
Israel.  As  the  valleys  are  they  spread  forth,  as  gardens  by  the 
river's  side  and  as  cedar  trees  beside  the  waters. 

The  customs  of  the  people  are  vain,  for  one  cutteth  a  tree  out  of 
the  forest,  the  work  of  the  hands  of  the  workman  with  the  axe. 

Hurt  not  the  earth,  neither  the  sea,  nor  the  trees,  till  we  have 
sealed  the  servants  of  G-od  in  their  foreheads. 

Thy  plants  are  an  orchard  of  pomegranates,  with  pleasant 
fruits,  camphor  with  spikenard ;  a  fountain  of  gardens,  a  well  of 
living  waters  and  streams  from  Lebanon. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  5 

In  the  midst  of  the  street  of  it  and  on  either  side  of  the  river 
was  there  the  tree  of  life,  which  bare  twelve  maimer  of  fruits,  and 
yielded  her  fruit  every  month ;  and  the  leaves  of  the  tree  were  for 
the  healing  of  nations. 

He  that  hath  an  ear  let  him  hear  what  the  spirit  saith  unto  the 
churches.  To  him  that  overcometh  will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  tree  of 
life,  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  paradise  of  G-od. 


THE   TRIUMPH    OF    HECTOR. 


HOMER. 


Translated  by  "William  Mumfokd. 


CO  equal,  then,  the  war  and  battle  hung, 
■     Till  Jove  at  length  superior  glory  gave 
To  Hector,  Priam's  son,  who  entered  first 
Achaia's  wall.     With  loud,  tremendous  shout, 
He  called  his  Trojan  heroes  :  "Sons  of  Troy, 
Equestrian  warriors,  to  the  onset  come. 
Break  now  the  Grecian  wall,  and  on  their  ships 
Throw  flaming  brands,  like  thunderbolts  of  Jove  !" 
He  said,  inspiring  fury.     They  his  call 
With  transport  heard  throughout  that  numerous  host ! 
Thronging  together,  to  the  wall  they  ran, 
Armed  with  keen  spears,  before  them  held  erect ; 
And  mounted  scaling-ladders.     Hector  seized 
And  bore  a  stone  which  stood  before  the  gates, 
Heavy  and  craggy,  pointed  sharp  at  top, 
Which  not  two  men,  though  stoutest  of  the  race 
Earth  now  sustains,  could,  without  toil,  have  moved 
By  levers  from  the  ground  and  heaved  its  mass 
Into  a  wagon ;  yet  did  singly,  he, 


WERNER'S  READINGS 

Toss  it  with  ease,  so  light  Saturnian  Jove 

Made  it  to  him !     For,  as  a  shepherd  brings 

In  one  hand  joyfully  a  ram's  rich  fleece, 

And  feels  but  small  the  weight,  so  Hector  bore 

That  rock  enormous  toward  the  lofty  gates, 

Strong-framed,  with  double  valves,  of  panels  thick, 

Compact  and  firm ;  two  iron  bars  within, 

Transverse,  secured  them,  fastened  by  a  bolt. 

He  near  them  took  his  stand,  with  legs  astride, 

That  not  in  vain  that  weapon  should  be  thrown  ; 

Then  smote  them  in  the  midst  with  all  his  strength, 

And  broke  both  hinges.     Thundering  on,  the  stone, 

With  force  overwhelming,  fell  within  the  wall. 

Loud  rang  the  yielding  gates,  asunder  riven, 

Nor  could  the  bars  retain  them ;  flew  the  planks 

In  splintered  fragments,  scattered  every  way. 

Into  the  pass  illustrious  Hector  leaped ; 

Gloomy  as  night,  with  aspect  stern  and  dread. 

Arrayed  in  brazen  panoply,  he  shone 

Terrific ;  in  his  hands  two  javelins  keen. 

And  surely  no  one  could  have  checked  him  then, 

Except  the  gods,  when  through  those  gates  he  sprang ! 

His  eyes,  tremendous,  flashed  with  living  fire ; 

And,  turning  to  his  host,  he  called  them  all 

To  pass  the  barrier.    They  that  call  obeyed. 

Some  clambered  o'er  the  wall,  while  others  through 

The  portals  poured ;  and  terror-struck,  the  Greeks 

Fled  to  their  hollow  ships.     Confusion  dire, 

And  uproar  wild  and  horrible  ensued. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

COMBAT   BETWEEN    PARIS  AND 
MENELAUS. 


HOMER, 


[From  the  Trojan  towers,  the  battlefield  is  viewed  by  Priam  and  Helen.] 

NOW  when  the  troops  together  with  their  captains 
Were  marshaled  straight  on  either  side  in  place, 
The  Trojans  marched  with  screams  and  cries  like  birds, 
But  the  Achaians — they,  forsooth,  in  silence 
Marched,  breathing  battle-rage,  at  heart  full  fain 
To  stand  each  one  by  other  in  the  fray. 

A  cloud  of  dust  raised  up  beneath  the  feet 

Of  them,  as  on  they  marched ;  and  'thwart  the  plain 

Right  swift  they  made  their  way.     And  when  the  hosts 

Thus  marching  each  against  other  now  were  near, 

A  champion  on  the  Trojan  side  in  front, 

Came  godlike  Alexander  ;  on  his  shoulder 

A  leopard-skin  he  wore,  and  crooked  bow 

And  arrows,  and  a  sword ;  and  brandishing 

Two  brass-tipped  spears,  he  challenged,  face  to  face, 

Any  the  best  of  the  Argives,  in  grim  battle 

To  fight  against  him.     Soon  as  Menelaus 

Noted  him  so  striding  big,  right  glad  he  was ; 

Straightway  to  the  ground  from  off  his  chariot, 

He  leapt  with  all  his  armour  on.     Soon,  howe'er, 

As  godlike  Alexander  noted  him 

Forth  shining  'mongst  the  foremost,  his  dear  heart 

Was  terror-stricken,  and  back  again  he  shrank 

Into  his  comrades'  troop — so  escaping  death. 

But  Hector  eyed  him,  and  with  words  of  shame 
Rated  him  thus  :  "  Wouldst  thou,  unlucky  Paris, 
Wouldst  thou  'dst  been  unborn,  or  died  unwedded ! 


8  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Chuckling  aloud  are  the  Argives  at  thinking 

How  'tis  a  champion  prince !   for  that  thou  hast 

A  comely  form  about  thee  ;  but  at  heart 

Is  no  strength  nor  any  kind  of  courage  ! 

Such,  then,  as  this  wast  thou  and  didst  gather 

Right  trusty  mates,  and  in  seafaring  ships 

Didst  sail  the  deep,  and  mingle  with  foreigners, 

And  carry  off  from  yonder  far-away  land 

The  shapely  woman,  Helen,  the  wedded  fair 

Allied  by  marriage  to  the  warrior-chiefs. 

Durst  thou  not  stand  and  bide  yon  warrior, 

Ares-loved  Menelaus  ?     To  thy  cost 

Soon  shouldst  thou  know,  what  manner  of  man  is 

He  whose  blooming  wife  thou'rt  holding  in  possession. 

Avail  thee  not,  should  all  thy  skill  in  harping ; 

Thy  gifts  of  Aphrodite— when  in  dust  were  mingled. 

Cowards,  arrant  cowards,  are  we  Trojans." 

Then  answered  him  godlike  Alexander : 

"  Hector  !  now  sure  thou  chidest  me  with  fitness, 

And  not  o'erstepping  fitness ;  for  in  thy  breast 

Undaunted  is  thy  heart.     Bring  not  against  me 

The  lovely  gifts  of  golden  Aphrodite. 

But  if  one  thou  wish  to  battle  and  fight, 

Make  all  the  rest  sit  down ;  then  together 

Put  me  and  Menelaus,  lord  of  Arro, 

To  fight  for  Helen  and  all  her  havings, 

And  whichsoever  shall  subdue  the  master, 

Let  him  take  all  she  has,  and  the  woman, 

And  carry  with  him  home ;  so  ye  may  all 

Make  friendly  peace,  and  dwell  in  Troy's  fat  land." 

Right  glad  was  Hector  now ;  and  before  the  lines 
Midway  he  ^vent,  grasping  a  spear  by  its  middle. 
And  the  Argive  host  was  made  to  sit.     Anon 
At  him  the  long-haired  Argives  bent  their  bows, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

But  Agamemnon,  he,  the  king  of  men, 
Cries  oat  aloud :  "  Hold  !  for  some  weighty  words, 
Does  Hector  of  the  glancing  helm  stand  forth." 
He  spake,  whereat  all  silent  they  became ; 
And  Hector  thus  outspoke  betwixt  both  lines : 
I  Hear  the  speech  of  Alexander,  Paris — 
He  asks  all  to  lay  aside  their  harness, 
And  that  himself  and  your  chief,  Menelaus, 
Should  fight  in  single  combat  in  the  midst, 
They  alone,  for  Helen  and  all  her  havings." 

Spake  Menelaus  bold  in  shout  of  battle  : 
"Now  hear  ye  me  !    Now  for  parting  issue 
For  this  my  quarrel  am  I  minded. 
Then  fetch  ye  lambs,  one  white,  a  male,  and  one 
A  female,  black ;  for  Zeus  we  fetch  a  male. 
Bring  his  mightiness,  King  Priam,  that  he 
With  solemn  sacrifice  may  make  the  treaty." 

And  both  Trojans  and  Achaians  were  glad 

At  the  hope  of  an  end  of  dreary  war. 

Hector  despatched  two  heralds  with  all  speed 

To  fetch  the  lambs,  and  call  at  once  King  Priam. 

Iris  came  to  white-robed  Helen  and  said : 

"Hither,  dear  bride,  come  hither  and  see  the  doings 

Wondrous  of  the  Trojans  and  the  Argives. 

But  now  with  lengthy  spears  to  fight  for  thee 

Are  Alexander  and  the  friend  of  Ares, 

Prince  Menelaus ;  and  whiche'er  shall  beat, 

His  beloved  consort  shalt  thou  then  be  called." 

Covering  herself  with  a  fine  white  linen  veil, 
As  she  let  fall  a  tender  tear,  she  hastened 
From  forth  her  chamber ;  then  came  to  Priam. 
Also  were  sitting  at  the  Scaian  gates 
The  Elders  of  the  people,  both  sage  men. 
Priam,  meanwhile,  aloud  called  Helen  to  him : 


10  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"  Hither,  dear  child  !  by  me  now  come  and  sit, 

Whence  mayest  thou  see  thy  former  lord  and  friends." 

Anon,  the  heralds  through  the  town  to  Priam  came, 

Before  the  old  King  stopped,  and  aroused  him. 

The  old  man  shuddered,  and  bade  his  comrades  yoke  his  horses ; 

Arrived,  he  cut  the  gullets  of  the  lambs  and  laid  them  down. 

Then  drew  they  wine  from  forth  the  mixing  bowl 

Into  the  cups,  and  forthwith  prayed  the  gods. 

Then  Hector,  son  of  Priam,  and  Prince  Odysseus 

Measured  out  first  the  ground,  and  then  took  lots 

And  shook  them  in  a  dog-skin,  brass-fitted, 

To  learn  which  first  should  fling  his  brazen  javelin. 

The  mighty  Hector  of  the  glancing  helm, 

Looking  behind  him  cast  the  lots  ;  and  quickly 

Forth  leapt  the  lot  of  Paris.     Then  in  the  lines 

They  sat,  each  man  beside  his  prancing  horse. 

Prince  Alexander,  fair-tressed  Helen's  lord, 

Put  on  his  goodly  harness  thwart  his  comely  greaves, 

Fitted  with  silver  clasps  above  his  ankles ; 

Next  then  about  his  chest  he  donned  the  corselet ; 

He  slung  his  brazen  silver-studded  sword ; 

And  then  his  buckler,  strong  at  once  and  ample ; 

And  on  his  mighty  head  he  set  his  helm, 

Fair  wrought,  bedecked  with  horse  tail,  and  the  crest 

Down  from  the  top  thereof  all  grimly  nodded ; 

Then  his  brave  spear,  that  fitted  well  his  grasp, 

He  took  in  hand.     So,  likewise,  did  the  warrior, 

Prince  Menelaus,  also  don  his  harness. 

Now  when  from  forth  each  host  they  thus  were  armed, 

Looking  all  grim,  they  strode  in  battle  array, 

In  the  midst  'twixt  Trojans  and  fair-greaved  Achaians, 

Each  bearing  grudge  at  other,  stood  they  twain, 

And  poised  their  spears,  and  moved  them  to  and  fro. 

Now  Alexander  first  launched  his  long  spear, 

And  smote  upon  Atrides'  gallant  buckler, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  1) 

At  all  points  good,  where  through  the  brass  brake  not, 

But  back  upon  the  stubborn  shield  was  bent 

The  point  thereof.     Anon,  with  brazen  weapon, 

The  other  chief  Atrides,  Menelaus, 

Bestirred  himself,  and  prayed  to  Father  Zeus. 

He  spake,  and  poised  the  lengthy  spear, 

Launched  it,  and  smote  the  shield,  good  at  all  points, 

Of  Priamides. 

Whereat,  indeed, 
The  weighty  spear  pierced  through  the  brilliant  shield, 
And  through  his  corselet,  richly  dight,  was  planted. 
Cut  did  the  spear  right  through  his  coat  of  mail ; 
He  bent  aside  and  so  'scaped  gloomy  death. 
Anon,  the  son  of  Atreus  plucked  him  forth 
His  silver-studded  sword,  raised  it  aloft, 
And  smote  the  foeman's  helmet-peak,  whereon, 
In  pieces  three  and  four  from  out  his  hand, 
Shattered  it  fell,  and  wailed  out  to  Father  Zeus. 
Then  darted  on  and  seized  him  by  the  helmet 
Bushy  with  horse-hair,  turned  about,  and  now 
Was  dragging  him  toward  the  fair-greaved  Argives 
And  sorely  did  the  rich-embroidered  thong, 
The  helmet's  throat-lash,  which  beneath  his  chin 
Was  at  full  stretch,  now  press  his  tender  throat. 
Sure  then  both  dragged  him  off  had  he,  and  gained 
A  countless  glory.     But  back  again  rushed  he, 
Full  bent  on  destroying  him  with  brazen  spear. 
But  Aphrodite  readily,  with  ease — 
As  can  a  goddess, — rescued  him,  and  hid 
In  a  thick,  darksome  haze,  and  set  him  down 
Within  his  fragrant  chamber,  sweet-perfumed. 

Forth  went  she  then  to  summon  Helen. 

She  likened  herself  to  an  aged  ancient  dame. 

Then  of  her  nectarous  garments  took  she  hold, 

And  addressed  her,  saying:  " Lord  Paris  calls  thee." 


1$  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  fair  lady  spoke  this  word  aloud : 

"  Madam  !  why  thus  art  longing  to  catch  me  ? 

Wouldst  lead  me  further  still,  to  some  fair  towns, 

Lovely  Mseonia's  pleasant  towns,  or  Phrygia's  ? 

Thenceforth  blame  would  all  the  Trojan  women, 

And  endless  pangs  at  heart  I  endure  already." 

Unto  her,  then,  the  goddess  Aphrodite 

In  wrath  spake  thus :  "Anger  me  not !     0  cruel ! 

Lest  all  in  wrath  I  abandon  thee  and  hate  thee, 

And  haply  a  sorry  death  so  shouldst  thou  perish." 

She  spake,  and  Jove-sprung  Helen  was  afraid, 

And  went  in  silence  to  Alexander's  abode. 

Turning  her  eyes  aside,  with  this  word 

She  chid  her  lord  :  "Thou  hast  come  from  out  the  combat ! 

Would  hadst  thou  perished  upon  the  spot, 

Slain  by  that  doughty  warrior,  my  first  lord  !  " 

Spake  Paris  thus  in  answer  :  "  Chide  me  not, 

0  woman,  with  reproaches  hard  to  bear. 

For  beaten,  indeed,  has  Menelaus  now, 

By  Athene's  help ;  but  I'll  beat  him  hereafter !  " 

Meanwhile,  Atrides,  all  about  the  throng, 

Went  to  and  fro,  like  a  savage  beast, 

If  haply  he  might  anywhere  descry 

The  godlike  Alexander ;  but  not  one 

Could  point  out  Paris.     Then  to  Menelaus — 

Hateful  was  he  become  as  gloomy  death, — 

Spake  Agamemnon :  "  Hear  me,  0  Trojans, 

And  Dardans,  and  ye  allies  !     The  mastery,  indeed, 

Is  clearly  shown  on  side  of  Menelaus, 

The  friend  of  Ares.     You,  then,  give  ye  up 

The  Argive  Helen,  and  all  her  havings  with  her, 

And  pay  the  compensation  as  'tis  fitting ; 

Which  to  our  folk  shall  sure  belong,  e'en  ever." 

So  spake  Atrides  ;  and  thereat  with  shout 

Approved  the  Achaians  all,  the  host  throughout. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  13 

BATTLE   OF  THE   FROGS   AND    MICE. 


[Sometimes  ascribed  to  Homer,  but  evidently  of  later  origin,  the  work  of 
'igres,  and  designed  to  travesty  the  "Iliad"  and  the  "  Odyssey."— Encyc] 


ONCE  upon  a  time,  fatigued  and  out  of  breath, 
And  just  escaped  the  stretching  claws  of  death, 
\.  gentle  mouse,  whom  cats  pursued  in  vain, 
?lies,  swift  of  foot,  across  the  neighboring  plain, 
langs  o'er  a  brink,  his  eager  thirst  to  cool, 
^.nd  dips  his  whiskers  in  the  standing  pool. 
fVhen  near  a  courteous  frog  advanced  his  head, 
,\.nd  from  the  waters,  hoarse  resounding,  said : 
'  What  art  thou,  stranger  ?     What  line  you  boast  ? 
What  chance  hath  cast  thee  panting  on  our  coast  ? 
With  strictest  truth,  let  all  your  words  agree, 
\.nd  let  me  find  a  faithful  mouse  in  thee. 
f  worthy  friendship,  proffered  friendship  take, 
ind,  ent'ring,  view  the  pleasurable  lake ; 
lange  o'er  my  palace,  in  my  bounty  share, 
Vnd  glad  return  from  hospitable  fare. 
This  silver  realm  extends  beyond  my  sway, 
\.nd  me,  their  monarch,  all  its  frogs  obey. 
Chee,  too,  thy  form,  thy  strength,  and  port  proclaim 
\.  sceptred  king ;  a  son  of  martial  fame. 
Chen  trace  thy  line,  and  aid  my  guessing  eyes." 
Thus  ceased  the  frog,  and  thus  the  mouse  replies : 
'  My  name  resounds  alof  fc  throughout  the  skies, 
n  arts  I  shine,  in  arms  I  fight, 
Vlixed  with  all  the  bravest,  unknown  to  flight. 
fet  we  have  foes,  grim  owls  with  talons ;  cats  with  claws !  " 

Ks  thus  the  downy  prince  his  mind  expressed, 
His  answer  thus  the  croaking  king  addressed : 
'  We  sport  in  water,  or  we  dance  on  land, 
A.nd,  born  amphibious,  food  from  both  command. 


14  WERNER'S  READINGS 

But  trust  thyself  where  wonders  ask  thy  view, 
And  safely  tempt  those  seas;  I'll  bear  thee  through. 
Ascend  my  shoulders,  firmly  keep  thy  seat, 
And  reach  my  marshy  court,  and  feast  in  state," 
He  said,  and  leaned  his  back.     With  nimble  bound, 
Light  leaps  the  mouse  and  clasps  his  arms  around ; 
But  when  aloft  the  curling  water  rides, 
And  wets  with  azure  wave  his  downy  sides, 
He  sighs,  and  chilled  with  danger,  longs  for  shore. 
His  tail  extended  forms  a  fruitless  oar ; 
Drenched  in  liquid  death  his  prayers  he  made 
That  to  reach  the  land  might  the  frog  lend  aid. 

As  thus  he  sorrows,  death  ambiguous  grows, 

Lo,  from  the  deep  a  water  hydra  rose, 

And  rolls  his  sanguined  eyes,  his  bosom  heaves  ; 

And  darts  with  active  rage  along  the  waves. 

Confused,  the  monarch  sees  his  hissing  foe, 

And  dives  to  shun  the  sable  fates  below. 

Forgetful  frog  !     The  friend  thy  shoulders  bore, 

Unskilled  in  swimming,  floats  remote  from  shore. 

He  grasps  with  fruitless  hands  to  find  relief, 

Supinely  falls  and  grinds  his  teeth  with  grief. 

The  prince  his  rage  expressed  :    "  Thou  fling'st  me  from  thy  back, 

As  from  hard  rocks  rebounds  the  shattering  wrack  ; 

Nor  thou  slialt  'scape  thy  due,  perfidious  king ! 

Pursued  by  vengeance  on  the  swiftest  wing. 

On  land  thy  strength  could  never  equal  mine, 

At  sea  to  conquer,  and  by  craft  was  thine. 

But  heaven  has  gods,  and  gods  have  searching  eyes : 

Ye  mice,  ye  mice,  my  great  avengers,  rise  !  " 

This  said,  he,  sighing,  gasped,  and  sighing  died. 

His  death  the  young  Lichophinax  espied, 

As  on  the  flowery  brink  he  passed  the  day, 

Basked  in  the  beam,  and  loitered  life  away.    ' 


AND  RECITATIONS.  '  15 

Loud  shrieks  the  mouse,  his  shrieks  the  shores  repeat ; 

Che  nibbling  nation  learn  their  hero's  fate. 

xrief,  dismal  grief,  ensues ;  deep  murmurs  sound, 

\.nd  shriller  fury  fills  the  deafened  ground ; 

?rom  lodge  to  lodge  the  sacred  heralds  run, 

Do  fix  their  council  with  the  rising  sun. 

iiVhen  rosy-fingered  morn  had  tinged  the  clouds, 

Ground  their  monarch-mouse  the  nation  crowds. 

slow  rose  the  monarch,  heaved  his  anxious  breast, 

Lad  thus  the  council,  filled  with  rage,  addressed : 

'  Our  eldest  perished  by  a  ravening  cat, 

is  near  my  court  the  prince  unheedful  sat ; 

Che  last,  his  country's  hope,  his  parents'  pride, 

Plunged  in  the  lake  by  Physignathus,  died. 

iouse  all  to  war,  my  friends  !    Avenge  the  deed, 

Lnd  bleed  the  monarch,  and  his  nation  bleed." 

HEis  words  in  every  breast  inspired  alarms, 

ind  careful  Mars  supplied  their  host  with  arms. 

preadful  in  power  the  marching  mice  appear. 

Che  wondering  frogs  perceive  the  tumult  near, 

forsake  the  waters,  thickening  form  a  ring, 

find  ask,  and  hearken,  whence  the  noises  spring. 

^Vhen  near  the  crowd,  disclosed  to  public  view 

phe  valiant  chief  Embasichtyros  drew ; 

the  sacred  herald's  sceptre  graced  his  hand, 

ind  thus  his  words  expressed  his  king's  command : 

'  Ye  frogs  !     The  mice,  with  vengeance  fired,  advance, 

\.nd  decked  in  armor  shake  the  shining  lance ; 

pheir  hapless  prince  by  Physignathus  slain, 

xteuds  incumbent  on  the  watery  plain. 

hen  arm  your  host,  the  doubtful  battle  try ; 

ead  forth  those  frogs  that  have  the  soul  to  die  !" 

he  chief  retires,  the  crowd  the  challenge  hear, 

.nd  proudly  swelling,  yet  perplexed,  appear ; 


16  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Much  they  resent,  yet  much  their  monarch  blame 
Who,  rising,  spake  to  clear  his  tainted  fame  : 
"  0  friends  !  I  never  forced  the  mouse  to  death, 
Nor  saw  the  gaspings  of  his  latest  breath. 
He,  vain  of  youth,  our  art  of  swimming  tried ; 
And  venturous  in  the  lake  the  wanton  died. 
To  vengeance  now  by  false  appearance  led, 
They  point  their  anger  at  our  guiltless  head. 
Then  where  the  dancing  feather  joins  the  crest, 
Let  each  brave  frog  his  obvious  mouse  arrest ; 
Each  strongly  grasping,  headlong  plunge  a  foe, 
Till  countless  circles  whirl  the  lake  below. 
Down  sink  the  mice  in  yielding  waters  drowned ; 
Loud  plash  the  waters;  echoing  shores  resound." 
He  spake  no  more.     His  prudent  scheme  imparts 
Redoubled  ardor  to  the  boldest  hearts  ; 
And  dressed  for  war,  they  take  the  appointed  height, 
Poise  the  long  arms,  and  urge  the  promised  fight. 

But  now  where  Jove's  irradiate  spires  arise, 

With  stars  surrounded  in  ethereal  skies, 

The  sire,  superior,  leans,  and  points  to  show 

What  wondrous  combats  mortals  wage  below. 

This  seen,  the  power  his  sacred  visage  wears, 

He  casts  a  pitying  smile  on  worldly  cares, 

And  asks  what  heavenly  guardians  take  the  list, 

Or  who  the  mice,  or  who  the  frogs  assist  ? 

Then,  thus  to  Pallas :   "  If  my  daughter's  mind 

Have  joined,  why  stays  she  still  behind  ?" 

The  maid  replies  :  "In  vain,  my  father,  all  their  dangers  plead; 

To  such  thy  Pallas  never  grants  her  aid. 

My  flowery  wreaths  they  petulantly  spoil, 

And  rob  my  crystal  lamps  of  feeding  oil ; 

(Ills  following  ills)  but  what  affects  me  more, 

My  veil,  that  idle  race  profanely  tore. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  17 

Nor  let  the  frogs  to  gain  my  succor  sue, 

Those  clamorous  fools  have  lost  my  favor  too. 

Let  all  like  me  from  either  host  forbear, 

Nor  tempt  the  flying  furies  of  the  spear. 

Let  heavenly  blood  (or  what  for  blood  may  flow) 

Adorn  the  conquest  of  a  meaner  foe." 

So  moved  the  blue-eyed  queen;  her  words  persuade, 

Great  Jove  assented,  and  the  rest  obeyed. 

Now  front  to  front,  the  marching  armies  shine, 

Halt  ere  they  meet,  and  form  the  lengthening  line. 

The  chiefs,  conspicuous,  seen  and  heard  afar, 

Give  the  loud  sign  to  loose  the  rushing  war; 

Their  dreadful  trumpets  deep-mouthed  hornets  sound,  4 

The  sounded  charge  remurmurs  o'er  the  ground ; 

Even  Jove  proclaims  a  field  of  horror  nigh, 

And  rolls  low  thunder  through  the  troubled  sky. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Now  nobly  towering  o'er  the  rest  appears 
A  gallant  prince  that  far  transcends  his  years ; 
Pride  of  his  sire,  and  glory  of  his  house, 
And  more  a  Mars  in  combat  than  a  mouse  ; 
His  action  bold,  robust  his  ample  frame, 
And  Meridarpax  his  resounding  name. 
The  warrior,  singled  from  the  fighting  crowd, 
Boasts  the  dire  honors  of  his  arms  aloud ; 
Then  strutting  near  the  lake,  with  looks  elate, 
Threats  all  its  nations  with  approaching  fate. 
And  such  his  strength,  the  silver  lakes  around 
Might  roll  their  waters  o'er  unpeopled  ground. 
But  powerful  Jove,  who  shows  no  less  his  grace 
To  frogs  that  perish  than  to  human  race, 
Felt  soft  compassion  rising  in  his  soul 
And  shook  his  sacred  head,  that  shook  the  pole. 
Then  thus  to  all  the  gazing  powers  began, 
The  sire  of  gods  and  frogs  and  mouse  and  man : 


18  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"How  fierce  his  javelin  o'er  the  trembling  lakes 
The  black-furred  hero,  Meridarpax,  shakes  ! 
Unless  some  favoring  deity  descend, 
Soon  will  the  frogs'  loquacious  empire  end. 
While  Mars,  refulgent  on  his  rattling  car, 
Arrests  his  raging  rival  of  the  war." 
He  ceased,  reclining  with  attentive  head, 
When  thus  the  glorious  god  of  combats  said : 
"Nor  Pallas,  Jove  !  though  Pallas  take  the  field 
With  all  the  terrors  of  her  hissing  shield; 
Nor  Mars  himself,  though  Mars  in  armor  bright 
Ascend  his  car,  and  wheel  amidst  the  flight ; 
Nor  these  can  drive  the  desperate  mouse  afar, 
And  change  the  fortunes  of  the  bleeding  war. 
Let  all  go  forth,  all  heaven  in  arms  arise, 
Or  launch  thy  own  red  thunder  from  the  skies." 

'Twas  thus  the  omnipotent  advised  the  gods. 
When  from  his  throne  the  cloud-compeller  nods ; 
When  swift  he  hurls  the  brandished  bolt  around, 
And  headlong  darts  it  at  the  distant  ground. 
Yet  still  the  mice  advance  their  dread  design, 
And  the  last  danger  threats  the  croaking  line ; 
Till  Jove,  that  inly  mourned  the  loss  they  bore, 
With  strange  assistance  filled  the  frighted  shore. 
Poured  from  the  neighb'ring  strand,  deformed  to  view, 
They  march,  a  sudden,  unexpected  crew. 
Strong  suits  of  armor  round  their  bodies  close, 
Which  like  thick  anvils  blunt  the  force  of  blows ; 
On  eight  long  feet  the  wondrous  warriors  tread, 
And  either  end  supplies  the  head. 
The  mortal  wits  to  call  them  crabs  agree ; 
The  gods  have  other  names  for  things  than  we. 
Mice  short  of  feet,  have  lost  the  power  to  fly, 
Or  without  hands  upon  the  fields  they  lie. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  -  19 


Helpless  amazement,  fear  pursuing  fear, 
In  mad  confusion  through  their  host  appear ; 
O'er  the  wild  waste  with  headlong  flight  they  go, 
Or  creep  concealed  in  vaulted  holes  below. 
But  down  Olympus  to  the  western  seas, 
Far-shooting  Phoebus  drove  with  fainter  rays, 
And  a  whole  war  (before  ordained)  begun, 
And  fought,  and  ceased,  in  one  revolving  sun. 


THE  BIRDS. 


ARISTOPHANES. 


"\7"E  children  of  man,  whose  life  is  a  span, 
A     Attend  to  the  words  of  the  sovereign  birds, 
Who  survey  from  on  high,  with  a  critical  eye, 
Your  struggles  of  misery,  labor  and  care. 
Whence  you  may  learn  and  clearly  discern 
Such  truths  as  attract  your  inquisitive  turn, 
Which  is  busied  of  late  with  a  mighty  debate, 
A  profound  speculation  about  the  creation 
And  organical  life  and  chaotical  strife  ; 
With  various  notions  of  heavenly  motions, 
And  rivers  and  oceans,  and  valleys  and  mountains, 
And  sources  of  fountains  and  meteors  on  high, 
And  stars  in  the  sky,  we  propose,  by  and  by, 
(If  you  listen  and  hear)  to  make  it  all  clear. 

Before  the  creation  of  aether  and  light, 
Chaos  and  night  together  were  plight, 
In  the  dungeon  of  Erebus,  foully  bedight ; 
Nor  ocean,  nor  air,  a  substance  was  there, 
Or  solid  or  rare,  or  figure  or  form, 
But  horrible  Tartarus  ruled  in  the  storm. 


20  WERNER'S  READINGS 

At  length  in  the  dreary  chaotical  closet 
Of  Erebus  old  was  a  certain  deposit 
By  Night,  the  primeval,  in  secrecy  laid — 
A  mysterious  egg,  that  in  silence  and  shade, 
Was  brooded  and  hatched,  till  time  came  about 
And  Love,  the  delightful,  in  glory  flew  out, 
Sparkling  and  florid,  with  stars  in  his  forehead, 
His  forehead  and  hair,  and  a  flutter  and  flare, 
As  he  rose  in  the  air  triumphantly  furnished 
To  range  his  dominions  on  glittering  pinions. 
He  soon  in  the  murky  Tartarean  recesses, 
With  a  hurricane  might,  in  his  fiery  caresses, 
Impregnated  Chaos,  and  hastily  snatched 
To  being  and  life,  begotten  and  hatched, 
The  primitive  birds. 

But  the  deities  all, 
The  celestial  lights,  the  terrestrial  ball 
Were  later  of  birth,  with  the  dwellers  on  earth. 
Our  antiquity  proved,  it  remains  to  be  shown 
That  Love  is  our  author  and  master  alone. 
And  all,  the  world  over,  were  friends  of  the  lover. 
All  lessons  of  primary  daily  concern 
You  have  learnt  from  the  birds  and  continue  to  learn 
From  best  benefactors  and  early  instructors. 
We  give  you  the  warning  of  seasons  returning 
When  the  Cranes  are  arranged  and  muster  afloat ; 
In  the  middle  air,  with  a  croaking  note, 
Steering  away  to  the  Libyan  sands, 
Where  careful  farmers  sow  their  lands. 
The  shepherd  is  warned,  by  the  Kite  reappearing, 
To  muster  his  flocks,  and  be  ready  for  shearing. 
You  quit  your  old  cloak  at  the  Swallows'  behest, 
In  assurance  of  summer  and  purchase  a  vest. 
For  Delphi,  for  Amnion,  Dodona,  in  fine, 
For  every  oracular  temple  and  shrine, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  21 

The  birds  are  a  substitute  equal  and  fair, 
For  on  us  you  depend  and  to  us  you  repair 
For  counsel  and  aid,  when  a  marriage  is  made, 
A  purchase,  a  bargain,  a  venture  in  trade. 
Unlucky  or  lucky,  whatever  has  struck  ye, 
A  race  in  the  street  or  a  slave  that  you  meet, 
A  name  or  a  word  by  chance  overheard, 
If  you  deem  it  an  omen,  you  call  it  a  bird. 
And  if  birds  are  your  omens,  it  clearly  will  follow, 
That  birds  are  a  proper  prophetic  Apollo. 

Then  take  us  as  gods,  and  you  will  soon  find  the  odds, 

We'll  serve  for  all  uses  of  prophets  and  muses ; 

We'll  give  you  fine  weather;  we'll  live  here  together 

And  keep  scornful  and  proud  atop  of  the  cloud 

(In  Jupiter's  way),  but  attend  every  day 

To  prosper  and  bless  all  you  possess, 

And  all  your  affairs  for  yourself  and  your  heirs, 

And  as  long  as  you  live  we  gladly  shall  give 

You  wealth,  and  health,  and  pleasure, 

And  treasure  in  ample  measure ; 

In  laughter  and  mirth  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 

With  portable  gold,  you  shall  live  to  grow  old, 

And  your  only  distress  shall  be  the  excess 

Of  ease  and  abundance  of  happiness. 


J 

THE   DESTRUCTION  OF  TROY. 


VIRGIL. 


"T^HE  leaders  of  the  Greeks,  worn  with  war  and  baffled  by  fate, 
A  built,  with  the  aid  of  the  divine  skill  of  Pallas,  a  horse  as 
huge  as  a  mountain,  and  formed  the  sides  of  interlacing  flanks  of 
fir.  In  it  they  secretly  enclose  the  picked  warriors  they  have 
chosen,  and  fill  full  the  vast  caverns  with  armed  soldiers. 


22  WERNER'S  READINGS 

In  sight  lies  Tenedos,  an  island  well  known  to  fame,  rich,  and 
powerful ;  hither  they  proceed  and  conceal  themselves  on  the 
desolate  shore.  We  supposed  they  had  all  gone  away ;  therefore 
all  the  land  of  Troy  freed  itself  from  its  long  sorrow.  The  gates 
were  opened.  With  joy  we  issue  forth  and  view  the  Doric  camp, 
and  the  deserted  stations,  and  the  forsaken  coast.  Some  view  with 
amazement  the  unusual  offering  to  the  maiden  Minerva,  and 
wonder  at  the  stupendous  bulk  of  the  horse.  Thymoetes  is  the 
first  to  urge  that  it  be  dragged  within  the  walls  and  placed  in  the 
citadel.  But  Capys  and  others,  whose  minds  had  wiser  sentiments, 
advise  either  to  throw  the  thing  into  the  sea,  to  put  fire  under  it 
and  burn  it,  or  to  pierce  it  and  explore  the  inner  recesses  of  the 
body. 

The  fickle  multitude  is  split  into  opposite  factions.  Then  it  is 
that  foremost,  before  all  the  rest,  followed  by  a  great  crowd, 
Laocoon  eagerly  runs  down  from  the  heights  of  the  citadel,  and 
cries  from  afar  : 

"My  hapless  citizens,  how  has  such  wild  frenzy  seized  you  ?  Do 
you  believe  that  the  enemy  have  sailed  away  ?  Or  do  you  think 
that  any  Grecian  gifts  are  free  from  fraud  ?  Is  such  your  knowl- 
edge of  Ulysses  ?  Either  the  Achaeans  are  concealed  in  this  frame ; 
or  it  is  an' engine  wrought  against  our  walls,  intended  to  spy  into 
our  houses  and  come  down  upon  our  city  from  above  ',  or  there  is 
some  hidden  deceit.  Trust  not  the  horse,  ye  Trojans  !  Whatever 
it  is,  I  fear  the  Greeks  even  when  they  bring  gifts." 

Lo,  some  Dardan  shepherds  meanwhile  came,  dragging  to  the 
king  with  loud  shouts,  a  youth  whose  hands  were  bound  behind  his 
back;  who,  though  they  knew  him  not,  had  put  himself  in  their 
way  as  they  approached  him,  in  order  to  work  out  his  craft,  and 
open  Troy  to  the  Greeks,  or  submit  to  certain  death.  At  length  he 
made  this  speech  : 

"  I  certainly  will  declare  to  you,  0  King,  the  whole  truth,  what- 
ever be  the  consequence.  I  will  not  deny  I  am  by  birth  a  Greek, 
and  if  fortune,  the  wicked  goddess,  h as  fashioned  Sinon  to  misery, 
she  shall  not  fashion  him  to  falsehood  and  deceit.  After  the  death 
of  my  father  through  the  malice  of  Ulysses,  I  dragged  on  my  days 


AND  RECITATIONS.  23 

in  obscurity  and  sadness,  and  vowed  that  if  ever  I  returned  a  con- 
queror to  Argos,  I  would  be  his  avenger.  From  this  time  began 
my  downfall.  The  Greeks  often  wished  to  leave  Troy,  but  the 
inclement  fury  of  the  sea  kept  them  on  land,  and  the  wild  winds 
alarmed  them  in  the  act  of  starting.  In  our  bewilderment,  we 
sent  to  inquire  of  the  oracle,  Phcebus,  and  this  terrible  response 
was  brought  back :  '  By  blood,  you  must  seek  the  power  to  return, 
and  the  sacrifice  demands  an  Argive  life.'  At  last,  forced  by  the 
loud  outcries  of  Ithacus,  he  broke  silence  and  doomed  me  to  the 
altar.  The  dreadful  day  had  come.  I  snatched  myself  from 
death  and  broke  my  bonds,  and  now  I  have  no  hope  of  seeing 
again  my  fatherland,  nor  the  children  I  love,  and  the  parent  I  long 
to  see,  at  whose  hands,  perhaps,  they  will  even  require  satisfaction 
for  my  escape.  Wherefore,  by  the  gods  above,  pity  a  soul  that 
suffers  what  it  does  not  deserve." 

We  granted  him  his  life  and  pitied  his  tears.  "Whoever  you 
are,  from  this  time  forward  forget  the  Greeks  ;  you  shall  be  oars. 
Since  this  is  so,  explain  to  what  end  have  they  set  up  this  horse  of 
enormous  bulk  ? " 

By  means  of  the  deceptions  of  the  perjured  Sinon,  with  one 
voice,  the  people  cry  :  "  The  image  must  be  drawn  to  its  temple  and 
the  goddess  entreated."  And  threatening  it  glides  into  the  heart 
of  the  city. 

Meanwhile,  the  sphere  of  heaven  moves  round,  and  night  rushes 
up  from  the  ocean,  wrapping  in  her  universal  shade  both  earth  and 
sky,  and  the  craft  of  the  myrmidons.  The  Trojans  are  stretched 
in  silent  rest  throughout  the  town ;  sleep  clasps  their  weary  limbs. 
And  now,  the  Argive  host  was  advancing  in  naval  array  from  Ten- 
edos,  making  for  the  well-known  shores  amid  the  friendly  silence 
of  the  moon,  when  the  royal  ship  suddenly  shot  forth  the  signal- 
flame,  and  Sinon,  protected  by  the  partial  gloom  unbolts  the  bars 
of  pine,  and  sets  free  the  Greeks  imprisoned  in  the  body  of  the  horse. 
They  assault  the  city  buried  in  sleep  and  wine ;  the  guards  are  slain, 
and,  throwing  open  the  gates,  they  admit  all  their  comrades. 

The  town  is  filled  with  tumultuous  woe  ;  and,  although  the  man- 
sion of  my  father,  Anchises,  is  retired  from  view  by  its  secluded 


24  WERNER'S  READINGS 

situation  and  its  shadowing  trees,  still  louder  and  louder  grow  the 
sounds,  and  the  terror  of  battle  comes  close  upon  us.  Startled  from 
sleep,  I  mount  to  the  highest  point  of  the  sloping  roof,  and  take  my 
stand,  with  keenly  listening  ears.  Then,  indeed,  the  truth  is  evi- 
dent, and  the  stratagem  of  the  Greeks  revealed.  Already  the  man- 
sion of  Deiphobus  has  fallen  into  ruins,  as  the  god  of  fire  prevails  ; 
the  house  of  my  neighbor,  Ucalegon,  is  burning ;  far  and  wide  the 
Sigeah  channel  gleams  with  the  blaze.  There  arises  the  cry  of 
men  and  the  clang  of  trumpets.  Distractedly  I  take  my  arms,  and 
yearn  to  muster  a  troop  for  battle,  and  to  hasten  to  the  citadel ; 
frenzy  and  rage  give  me  reckless  resolution,  and  I  think  it  were 
glorious  to  fall  fighting. 

But  lo,  Pantheus,  escaped  from  the  weapons  of  the  G-reeks,  with 
his  own  hands  drags  along  the  sacred  vessels,  his  vanquished 
gods,  and  his  little  grandson,  and  comes  running  to  my  door. 
"  How  stands  the  fortune  of  the  State,  Pantheus  ?  What  strong- 
hold are  we  to  seize  ?  " 

Scarce  had  I  spoken  the  words,  when,  with  a  groan,  he  answers  : 
"  Troy  has  reached  her  final  day  and  her  inevitable  hour.  The 
Trojans  are  no  more.  Ilium  is  no  more.  Relentless  Jove  has 
transferred  all  power  to  Argos ;  the  Greeks  lord  it  in  the  city  they 
have  fired.  The  horse,  erect  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  pours  forth 
from  its  height  armed  men,  and  Sinon,  now  a  conqueror,  inso- 
lently flings  the  flames  abroad.  Some  are  crowding  in  at  the 
double  gates,  ail  the  thousands  that  ever  came  from  proud 
Mycenas ;  others  with  their  weapons  have  barred  the  narrower 
streets ;  the  sharp  sword  with  glittering  blade  is  drawn  and  fixed, 
prepared  to  kill.  The  guards  at  the  gates  hardly  attempt  a 
contest !  " 

By  such  words  and  by  the  will  of  heaven,  I  am  carried  into  the 
flames  and  the  fight,  whither  the  fell  fury  of  battle  calls  me. 
Comrades  join  me.  When  I  saw  that  they  formed  a  band,  and 
were  bold  for  battle,  to  incite  them  further :  "  Warriors,"  I 
began,  "hearts  most  valiant,  you  see  what  is  the  state  of  our 
fortunes ;  the  gods  by  whom  this  realm  stood  fast,  have  all 
departed,  and  left  the   sanctuaries   and  shrines.     Haste  ye,   to 


AND  RECITATIONS.  25 

succor  a  city  that  is  set  on  fire  !  Let  us  rush  into  the  thickest  of 
the  fight  and,  if  need  be,  die  !  " 

Thereupon,  like  ravening  wolves,  we  make  our  way  through 
weapons,  through  foes,  and  press  on  to  the  centre  of  the  city. 
Who  in  words  could  describe  the  carnage  of  that  night  ?  An  an- 
cient city  is  falling  !  Helpless  forms  in  vast  numbers  are  stretched 
on  all  sides,  throughout  the  streets,  the  houses,  and  the  hallowed 
thresholds  of  the  gods.  Nor  from  the  Trojans  only  is  exacted  the 
penalty  of  blood.  Sometimes  to  the  hearts  of  the  vanquished  also 
valor  returns,  and  the  victorious  Greeks  fall.  Everywhere  is  cruel 
woe  ;  everywhere  is  panic  and  death  in  many  a  shape. 

When  the  night  is  spent,  I  find  with  astonishment  that  a  vast 
number  have  flocked  to  join  me,  both  matrons  arid  husbands  ;  a 
band  of  men  assembled  for  exile,  a  piteous  throng.  They  have 
resolved  to  settle  in  whatever  lands  I  please  to  lead  them  to,  over 
the  sea.  And  now  the  morning-star  was  beginning  to  rise  over  the 
topmost  ridges  of  Ida,  bringing  in  the  day ;  and,  taking  up  my 
father  we  journeyed  toward  the  mountains. 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  GOD,  THE  COMPAS- 
SIONATE, THE  MERCIFUL. 


[From  the  Koran.] 


TIT"  HEN  the  day  that  must  come  shall  have  come  suddenly, 
v  v       None  shall  treat  its  sudden  coming  as  a  lie ; 
Day  that  shall  abase  !     Day  that  shali  exalt ! 
When  the  earth  shall  be  shaken  with  a  shock, 
And  the  mountains  shall  be  crumbled  with  a  crumbling, 

And  become  scattered  dust, 
And  into  three  bands  shall  ye  be  divided  ; 
Then  the  people  of  the  right  hand  —  how  happy 

The  people  of  the  right  hand ! 


26  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  the  people  of  the  left  hand  —  how  wretched 

The  people  of  the  left  hand  ! 
And  they  who  were  foremost  on  earth  — 

The  foremost  still. 
These  are  they  who  shall  be  brought  nigh  to  God, 

In  gardens  of  delight, 
On  inwrought  couches,  reclining  face  to  face. 
Immortal  youths  go  round  about  to  them, 
With  goblets  and  ewers  and  a  cup  from  a  fountain ; 
Their  brows  ache  not  from  it,  nor  fails  the  sense ; 
And  with  such  fruits  as  they  shall  make  choice  of, 
And  with  flesh  of  such  birds  as  they  shall  long  for  ; 
A_nd  theirs  shall  be  the  Houris  with  large,  dark  eyes, 

Like  close-kept  pearls, 
A  recompense  for  their  labors  past. 

And  the  people  of  the  right  hand  —  how  happy 

The  people  of  the  right  hand ! 

Amid  thornless  love-trees, 

And  bananas  clad  with  flowers, 
And  extended  shade,  and  flowing  waters, 
And  abundant  fruits,  unfailing  and  unforbidden. 


But  the  people  of  the  left  hand — how  wretched 

Shall  be  the  people  of  the  left  hand  ! 
Amid  pestilential  winds  and  in  scalding  water, 

And  the  shadow  of  a  black  smoke, 

Not  cooling  and  not  pleasant. 
Then  verily  ye,  0  ye  the  erring,  the  imputers  of  falsehood, 

Shall  surely  eat  of  the  tree  Zakkoum ! 


AND  RECITATIONS.    '  27 

DHOULKARNAIN. 


[From  the  Koran:] 


[Dhoulkarnain  is  probably  Alexander  the  Great.] 

r~pHEY  will  ask  thee  of  Dhoulkarnain  [the  two-horned].     Say: 
■*■     I  will  recite  to  you  an  account  of  him. 

Verily  he  established  his  power  upon  the  earth,  and  we  gave 
him  a  means  to  accomplish  every  end,  as  he  followed  his  way, 

Until  when  he  reached  the  setting  of  the  sun,  he  found  it  to  set 
in  a  miry  fount ;  and  hard  by  he  found  a  people. 

We  said  :  "  0  Dhoulkarnain  !  whether  thou  chastise  or  whether 
thou  treat  them  generously  " — 

"  As  for  him  who  is  impious,"  said  he,  "  we  will  chastise  him; 
then  shall  he  be  taken  back  to  his  lord,  and  he  will  chastise  him 
with  a  grievous  chastisement." 

Then  followed  he  a  route,  until  when  he  reached  the  rising  of 
the  sun,  he  found  it  to  rise  on  a  people  to  whom  we  had  given  no 
shelter  from  it. 

Thus  it  was.  And  he  had  full  knowledge  of  the  forces  that 
were  in  the  sun. 

Then  followed  he  a  route,  until  he  came  between  two  mountains, 
beneath  which  he  found  a  people  who  scarce  understood  a  language. 

They  said:  "0  Dhoulkarnain!  verily,  Gog  and  Magog  waste 
this  land ;  shall  we  then  pay  the  tribute,  so  thou  build  a  rampart 
between  us  and  thou  ?  " 

He  said:  "Better  than  your  tribute  is  the  might  wherewith  my 
Lord  hath  strengthened  me  ;  but  help  me  strenuously,  and  I  will  set 
a  barrier  between  you  and  them.     Bring  me  blocks  of  iron." 

Until  when  it  filled  the  space  between  the  mountain-sides — 
"  Blow,"  said  he,  "  upon  it."  Until  when  he  had  set  it  on  fire,  he 
said  :  "  Bring  me  molten  brass,  that  I  may  pour  upon  it." 

And  Gog  and  Magog  were  not  able  to  scale  it,  neither  were  they 
able  to  dig  through  it. 


28  WERNERS  READINGS 

"This,"  said  he,  "is  a  mercy  from  my  Lord.  But  when  the 
threat  of  my  Lord  cometh  to  pass,  He  will  turn  it  to  dust,  and  the 
threat  of  my  Lord  is  a  truth." 


THE  LEGEND  OF  AINO. 


[From  the  "Kalevala."] 


Translated  by  John  A.  Porter. 


o 


^N  the  plains  of  Kalevala, 
On  the  prairies  of  "Wainola, 
Chanting  ever  wondrous  legends, 
Full  of  old-time  wit  and  wisdom, 
Wainamoinen,  ancient  minstrel, 
Passed  his  days  in  sweet  contentment. 
All  the  day  long  sang  the  minstrel, 
Often  into  dusky  evening ; 
Now  the  tales  of  ancient  heroes, 
Legends  of  the  time  forgotten, 
Now  the  story  of  creation. 
Far  and  wide  the  tidings  travelled, 
Far  away  men  heard  the  story 
Of  the  chant  of  Wainamoinen, 
Of  this  song  of  mighty  hero ; 
Far  to  southward  flew  the  echo, 
Heart  of  Northland  heard  and  listened. 

There  in  dim  and  dusky  Northland 
Lived  the  singer  Youkahainen, 
Lapland's  young  and  fiery  minstrel. 
One  day  feasting  with  his  fellows 
Came  unto  his  ears  the  whisper, 
On  the  meadows  of  Wainola, 
On  the  meads  of  Kalevala, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  29 

They  could  boast  a  sweeter  singer, 
Better  skilled  to  chant  a  legend, 
Better  far  than  Youkahainen, 
Or  the  ancient  one  that  taught  him. 
Thereupon  the  bard  grew  wrathful, 
Envy  swelled  the  minstrel's  bosom, 
Envy  of  this  Wainamoinen 
Famed  to  be  so  rare  a  singer. 
Stormful,  hastes  he  to  his  mother, 
Vows  that  he  will  hie  him  northward, 
Hasten  northward  and  betake  him 
To  the  cabins  of  Wainola, 
There  as  bard  to  offer  battle, 
There  to  strive  with  Wainamoinen. 

"  Nay,"  replied  the  fearful  mother, 
"  Gfo  not  hence  to  Kalevala." 

"Nay,"  the  father  answers,  "go  not 
There  to  strive  with  Wainamoinen. 
He  will  drive  you  forth  in  anger, 
Turn  to  ice  your  supple  ankles, 
Blast  with  cold  your  cunning  fingers, 
Sink  you  in  the  smothering  snow-drift." 

Then  made  answer  Youkahainen : 
"  Good,  indeed,  a  father's  judgment, 
Better  still  advice  maternal, 
Best  of  all  one's  own  decision ; 
Go  I  will,  and;  once  before  him, 
Call  him  out  to  wordy  battle  ; 
So  will  sing  my  ancient  legends, 
Chant  my  gathered  store  of  wisdom, 
That  this  boasted  best  of  singers 
Soon  shall  seem  a  sorry  minstrel." 

Thereupon  he  goes  forth  raging, 
From  his  stall  leads  forth  a  stallion,  ... 


30  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Hot  breath  steaming  from  his  nostrils, 
From  his  hoofs  bright  flashes  gleaming ; 
Bridles  swift  the  fiery  charger, 
To  the  golden  runners  links  him ; 
Leaps  into  the  sledge  impetuous, 
Springs  upon  the  hindmost  settle, 
Fiercely  strikes  the  fiery  stallion 
"With  his  pearl-enamelled  birch-rod. 
And  the  sledge  now  gayly  springing, 
Sallies  swiftly  on  his  journey. 
On  he  plunges,  restless,  northward, 
All  day  long  from  noon  till  evening, 
All  day  long,  the  next  day,  northward, 
So  the  third  from  dawn  till  twilight, 
Till  the  third  day  evening  brings  him 
To  Wainola's  peaceful  meadows, 
To  the  plains  of  Kalevala. 

So  it  chanced  that  Wainamoinen 
Rode  that  evening  on  the  highway, 
Peacefully  for  pasture  gliding 
Down  the  meadows  of  Wainola, 
O'er  the  plains  of  Kalevala. 

Forward  comes  the  fiery  stripling 
Urging  still  his  hot  blood  stallion, 
Dashing  down  upon  the  minstrel, 
Till  they  meet  in  fierce  collision. 

Then  the  minstrel  boldly  cries  out : 
"  Say,  who  art  thou  ?     Stupid  fellow  ! 
Coming,  dashing  down  the  highway, 
Crazily  thy  stallion  urging, 
Striking  me  in  fierce  encounter. 
Let  me  know,  thou  stupid  fellow, 
"Who  thou  art  and  whence  thou  comest." 

Then  the  stripling  boldly  answered : 


AND  RECITATIONS.    •  31 

"  I,  be  sure,  am  Youkahainen ; 
But  'twere  better  thou  shouldst  tell  me 
Who  thou  art  and  whence  thou  comest, 
Of  what  shabby  race  descended." 

Then  once  more  the  ancient  minstrel: 
"  If  thy  name  be  Youkahainen, 
Make  me  way,  thou  silly  stripling, 
Thou  art  but  a  boy  before  me." 

But  the  youthful  Youkahainen 
Thus  unto  the  greybeard  answered  : 
"  Little  matter  one  or  fourscore ; 
Who  in  knowledge  stands  the  highest, 
He  shall  hold  the  middle  roadway 
And  the  other  yield  him  passage. 
Art  thou  ancient  Wainamoinen, 
He,  the  far-famed  bard  magician, 
Let  us  sing  each  one  his  legends, 
Let  each  tell  his  store  of  wisdom 
So  that  each  may  judge  the  other, 
And  in  rival  song  do  battle." 

Wrathful  then  grew  Wainamoinen, 
Broke  his  silence,  self-commanded, 
And  began  his  song  entrancing. 
Bravely  sang  the  ancient  minstrel, 
Till  the  flinty  rocks  and  ledges 
Heard  the  trumpet-tone  and  trembled ; 
And  the  copper-bearing  mountains 
Shook  along  their  deep  foundations ; 
Flinty  rocks  flew  straight  asunder ; 
Falling  cliffs  afar  were  scattered; 
All  the  solid  earth  resounded, 
And  the  ocean  billows  answered. 
And,  alas  !  for  Youkahainen, 
Lo !  his  sledge  so  fairly  fashioned 
Floats  a  waif  upon  the  ocean ; 


32  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Lo !  his  steed  of  shining  forehead 
Stands  a  statue  in  the  torrent. 
Still  the  minstrel  sings  unceasing, 
And,  alas  !  for  Youkahainen, 
Sings  his  sword  from  out  his  scabbard, 
Hangs  it  in  the  sky  before  him, 
As  it  were  a  gleam  of  lightning ; 
Sings  his  bow,  so  gayly  blazoned, 
Into  drift-wood  on  the  ocean ; 
Sings  his  finely  feathered  arrows 
Into  swift  and  screaming  eagles ; 
And  himself,  the  sorry  fellow, 
To  his  hip  in  mud  and  water. 

Now,  alas  !  poor  Youkahainen, 
Sorry  stripling,  comprehended 
All  too  plainly  what  the  end  was 
Of  the  joys  of  wordy  battle 
With  the  ancient  Wainamoinen. 
First  to  lift  his  right  foot  seeking, 
Sorry  wight,  the  foot  obeys  not ! 
Striving  next  to  stir  the  left  one, 
Finds  with  flint  the  sole  is  shodden ! 
Then,  alas  !  poor  Youkahainen, 
Falling  into  fear  and  torment, 
Sinking  deep  in  tribulation, 
Thus  addressed  the  ancient  minstrel : 

"  0  thou  ancient  Wainamoinen, 
First  and  only  true  magician, 
Do  but  turn  away  the  magic, 
Loose  me  from  this  frightful  prison, 
Free  me  from  its  pinching  torment, 
I  will  give  you  princely  guerdon, 
You  shall  win  a  noble  ransom." 

Spake  the  ancient  Wainamoinen : 
"  What  shall  be  the  princely  guerdon, 


AND  RECITATIONS.   ' 

"What  shall  be  the  noble  ransom  ?  " 

"  In  my  cabin  hang  two  cross-bows : 
Mighty  one  to  drive  an  arrow, 
One  so  lithe  a  child  can  span  it ; 
Choose  between  them,  mighty  minstrel, 
Take,  0  bard,  whichever  pleases." 

Answered  ancient  Wainamoinen : 
"  Nay,  I  grudge  thee  not  thy  cross-bows, 
Have,  indeed,  a  few  already. 
In  my  cabin,  ashen  cross-bows 
Cover  every  wall  and  chimney, 
Hang  on  every  peg  and  staple, 
Bows  that  spurn  the  help  of  hunters, 
Bows  that  go  themselves  a-hunting." 

Then  said  youthful  Youkahainen : 
"  Gold  and  silver  I  will  give  thee, 
Both  in  heaping  measure  pour  thee, 
Gold  my  father  won  in  battle, 
Silver  in  the  fight  with  heroes." 

"Nay,  I  grudge  thee  not  thy  silver, 
Gold  of  thine,  0  fool,  desire  not. 
Have,  methinks,  enough  already; 
Crammed  my  cot  in  every  chamber, 
Gold  that  like  the  sunlight  glitters, 
Silver  like  the  gleam  of  moonlight." 

Now,  alas  !  poor  Youkahainen, 
Bard  bedrabbled  in  the  quagmire, 
Mouth  so  tuneful  stopped  with  litter, 
Teeth  entangled  in  the  bushes — 
Up  from  out  this  pit  of  horror 
Spake  again  the  luckless  stripling : 
"  0  thou  wise  and  ancient  minstrel, 
Loose  me  from  this  slough  of  horror, 
And  my  joyous  life  restore  me ; 
For  my  eyes  with  sand  are  tortured, 


34  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Tides  unseen  begin  to  drag  me. 
Only  turn  away  thy  magic, 
Make  an  end  of  thy  enchantment, 
I  will  pledge  thee  beauteous  Aino, 
Aino,  daughter  of  my  mother, 
Aino,  my  beloved  sister, 
Bride  of  thine  to  be  forever." 

Glad  of  heart  is  Wainamoinen 
That  he  thus  has  fought  and  won  him 
For  his  age  a  lovely  maiden. 
So  he  seeks  a  place  befitting, 
Where  to  publish  forth  his  pleasure. 
Sings  a  moment,  sings  and  ceases ; 
Sings  a  second,  then  a  third  time, 
So  to  turn  away  the  magic, 
So  the  potent  spell  to  banish. 

Now  at  last  comes  Youkahainen 
Crawling  from  his  oozy  prison, 
Lifts  his  knees  from  out  the  water, 
Beard  from  out  the  bog  and  litter. 
Then  he  sets  his  sledge  in  order, 
Resting  not  a  moment,  mounts  it, 
And  betakes  him  swiftly  homeward, 
Woe-begone  beyond  expression 
At  the  thought  to  meet  his  mother. 
Now,  alas !  must  Youkahainen 
Freely  pour  his  tears  of  anger ; 
Cap  awry  upon  his  forehead, 
Chin  upon  his  bosom  sunken, 
Mouth  drawn  low  in  deep  dejection, 
Sorry  sight  he  stands  before  her. 

Then  his  mother,  speaking  gently, 
Sought  to  win  from  him  his  secret. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  35 

"  Tell  me,  son,"  she  said,  "  thy  sorrow, 

Why  thy  aspect  so  dejected, 

Why  thou  weepest  ?    Speak,  and  tell  me." 

Answered  youthful  Youkahainen : 
"  Mother  dear,  in  what  has  happened 
Cause,  alas  !  for  little  weeping. 
Not  alone  to-day  unhappy, — 
All  my  life  must  pass  in  sorrow. 
For,  0  mother,  I  have  promised 
Aino  bride  to  Wainamoinen, 
Prop  beneath  and  roof  above  him." 

Then  the  mother  rose  up  gayly, 
Clapped  her  hands  in  joy  together, 
"Weep  not,"  said  she,  "son  beloved, 
Cause  is  none  therein  for  weeping. 
Ever  I  this  hope  have  cherished 
That  one  day  the  mighty  minstrel, 
He,  the  valiant  Wainamoinen, 
Spouse  should  be  for  lovely  Aino, 
Son-in-law  for  me,  her  mother." 

But  the  beauteous  maiden,  Aino, 
Tearful  lingered  at  the  threshold, 
Wept  that  day  and  all  the  night  through, 
Wept  because  a  mighty  sorrow, 
Bitter  sorrow  filled  her  bosom. 

Gently  then  her  mother  asked  her : 
"  Why  art  weeping,  lovely  Aino  ? 
Why  art  pining,  dearest  daughter  ?  " 

And  the  maiden  then  made  answer : 
"Therefore  must  I  weep  and  sorrow, 
For  that  thou  thy  child  hast  promised, 
Sold  away  thy  little  daughter 
To  a  graybeard  old  and  limping, 
Joy  to  be  unto  his  dotage, 
Comfort  to  his  years  declining, 
Out  of  doors  a  staff  to  stay  him, 


36  WERNER'S  READINGS 

In  the  house  a  shield  around  him. 
Better  had  it  been  to  send  me 
Low  to  live  beneath  the  sea-foam, 
Than  to  be  an  old  man's  darling ; 
Better  far  the  whiting's  sister, 
Than  an  old  man's  slave  and  darling." 

All  that  day  the  maiden  wandered, 
All  the  morrow  sad  and  weary, 
So  the  next  day ;  till  at  evening, 
As  the  cruel  night  descended, 
Lo,  she  gained  the  curving  sea-shore, 
Lo,  before  her,  then,  the  ocean. 
All  the  evening  wept  the  maiden, 
All  the  night  long  wandered  weary, 
Up  and  down  the  pebbly  margin ; 
In  the  morning  looking  round  her 
Fixed  her  maiden  gaze  intently 
On  the  headland  jutting  seaward. 
In  the  sea  a  little  distance 
Stood  a  stone  of  many  colors, 
Gleaming  in  the  sunlight  golden ; 
Toward  it  leaped  the  little  maiden, 
Thither  swam  the  luckless  Aino, 
Up  the  shining  stone  had  clambered, 
There  a  moment  fain  to  linger, 
When  upon  a  sudden  swaying 
Seaward,  then  a  moment  sinking 
Down  upon  the  shiny  bottom, 
Far  beneath  the  wave  of  ocean 
Fell  the  stone  of  many  colors. 
With  it  fell  the  luckless  maiden 
Clinging  to  its  rocky  bosom, 
With  it  sank  the  maiden  Aino 
Down  beneath  the  bed  of  ocean. 
So  the  little  maiden  vanished, 
So  the  luckless  Aino  perished. 


AND  RECITATIONS.     '  37 

WOOING  OF  THE  MAID   OF   BEAUTY. 


[From  the  "Kalevala."] 


Translated  by  John  M.  Crawford. 


Scene  1. 
T  X  7"AINAMOINEN.     Come,  fair  maiden,  to  my  snow-sledge, 
*  By  my  side  I  wish  thee  seated. 

Maid  of  Beauty.     Tell  me  what  thou  wishest  of  me, 

Should  I  join  thee  in  the  snow-sledge. 

Wain.     Thou  shalt  bake  me  honey-biscuit, 
Shalt  prepare  me  barley-water, 
Thou  shalt  sing  beside  my  table, 
Shalt  rejoice  within  my  portals, 
Walk  a  queen  within  my  dwelling, 
In  the  courts  of  Kalevala. 

Maid.     Yesterday  at  hour  of  twilight 
Went  I  to  the  flowery  meadows, 
Where  the  sun  returns  to  slumber ; 
There  I  heard  a  song-bird  singing, 
Heard  the  thrush  in  simple  measures, 
Singing  clearly  thoughts  of  maidens ; 
How  to  live  in  greatest  pleasure, 
And  in  happiness  the  sweetest, 
As  a  maiden  with  her  mother, 
Or  as  wife  beside  her  husband. 
Thus  the  song-bird  gave  me  answer : 
"Bright  and  warm  are  days  of  summer, 
Warmer  still  is  maiden  freedom ; 
But  the  lives  of  married  women 
Are  like  dogs  enchained  in  kennel." 

Wain.     Foolish  is  the  thrush  thus  singing, 
Nonsense  is  the  song-bird's  twitter ; 


38 


WERNERS  READINGS 

Wives  are  queens  and  highly  honored. 
Come,  sweet  maiden,  to  my  snow-sledge ; 
Come  with  me  and  I  will  make  thee 
Wife  and  queen  in  Kalevala. 


Maid.     Never  enter  I  thy  snow-sledge, 
Till  thou  split  a  hair  exactly ; 
Till  thou  peelest  me  the  sandstone ; 
Till  thou  cuttest  me  a  wrhip-stick 
From  the  ice  and  make  no  splinters, 
Losing  not  the  smallest  fragment. 
I  will  go  with  that  one  only 
That  will  make  me  ship  or  shallop, 
From  the  splinters  of  my  spindle, 
From  the  fragments  of  my  distaff. 

Wain.     There  is  no  one  in  the  Northland, 
No  one  under  vault  of  heaven, 
Who  like  me  can  build  a  vessel, 
From  the  fragments  of  the  distaff, 
From  the  splinters  of  the  spindle. 


Wainamoinen  straightway  journeys 
To  the  spot  of  magic  labor, 
Built  and  launched  his  magic  vessel 
For  the  hostess  of  Pohyola, 
Dowry  of  the  Maid  of  Beauty 
Sitting  on  the  arch  of  heaven, 
On  the  bow  of  many  colors. 
Now  he  decks  his  magic  vessel, 
Paints  the  boat  in  blue  and  scarlet, 
Decks  the  prow  in  molten  silver. 
Wainamoinen,  the  magician, 
Steps  aboard  his  wondrous  vessel, 
Steers  the  bark  across  the  waters. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


39 


Scene  2. 
Fair  and  goodly  maid  Annikki 
Stood  one  morning  on  the  sea-shore 
Washing  in  the  foam  her  dresses, 
Rinsing  out  her  silks  and  ribbons. 
Looking  through  the  fog  and  ether, 
Looking  through  the  clouds  of  heaven, 
She  sees  far  out  on  th'  horizon, 
Something  darkle  in  the  sunlight, 
Something  blue  upon  the  billows, 
Speaks  these  words  in  wonder  guessing 

Annikki.     What  is  this  upon  the  surges  ? 

What  this  blue  upon  the  waters  ? 
What  this  darkling  in  the  suulight  ? 
Tis  perhaps  a  flock  of  wild  geese, 
Or  perchance  a  blue  duck  flying. 
Art  thou,  then,  a  cliff  of  granite  ? 
Or  perchance  a  mighty  oak-tree, 
Floating  on  the  rough  sea-billows  ? 
Art  thou,  then,  my  father's  vessel, 
Or  my  brother's  ship  of  magic  ? 
It  is  not  my  father's  vessel ; 
'Tis  the  ship  of  Wainamoinen, 
Bark  of  the  eternal  singer. 
Whither  sailest,  Wainamoinen, 
Whither  bound,  thou  friend  of  waters, 
Pride  and  joy  of  Kalevala  ? 

Wain.     I  have  come  to  catch  some  sea-trout, 
Hiding  in  these  reeds  and  rushes ; 
Catch  the  young  and  toothsome  whiting. 

Anni.     Do  not  speak  to  me  in  falsehood, 
Know  I  well  the  time  of  fishing ; 
Long  ago  my  honored  father 
Was  a  fisherman  in  Northland. 


40 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Very  well  do  I  remember 
How  the  fisherman  disposes, 
How  he  rigs  his  fishing-vessel. 
Hast  not  come  a-fishing  hither. 
Whither  goest,  Wainamoinen  ? 

Wain.     I  have  come  to  catch  some  wild  geese, 
In  these  far-extending  borders. 

Anni.     Know  I  well  a  truthful  speaker, 
Easily  detect  a  falsehood ; 
Formerly  my  aged  father 
Hither  came  to  hunt  the  wild  geese. 
Very  well  do  I  remember, 
How  the  hunter  rigs  his  vessel, 
Bows  and  arrows,  knives  and  quivers, 
Dogs  enchained  within  the  vessel, 
Pointers  hunting  on  the  sea-shore, 
Setters  seeking  in  the  marshes. 
Tell  the  truth  now',  Wainamoinen, 
Whither  is  the  vessel  sailing  ? 

Wain.     To  the  wars  my  ship  is  sailing, 
To  the  bloody  fields  of  battle, 
Where  the  streams  run  scarlet-colored, 
Where  the  paths  are  paved  with  bodies. 

Anni.     Know  I  well  the  paths  of  battle ; 
Formerly  my  aged  father 
Often  sounded  war's  alarum, 
Often  led  the  hosts  to  conquest ; 
In  each  ship  a  hundred  rowers, 
And  in  arms  a  thousand  heroes, 
Swords,  and  spears,  and  battle-axes ; 
Know  I  well  the  ship  of  battle. 
Speak  no  longer  fruitless  falsehoods. 
Whither  sailest,  Wainamoinen  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

Wain.     Come,  0  maiden,  to  my  vessel, 
In  my  magic  ship  be  seated, 
Then  I'll  give  thee  truthful  answer. 

Anni.     With  the  winds  I'll  fill  thy  vessel, 

To  the  bark  I'll  send  the  storm- winds, 
And  capsize  thy  ship  of  magic, 
If  the  truth  thou  dost  not  tell  me, 
If  thou  dost  not  cease  thy  falsehoods, 
If  thou  dost  not  tell  me  truly 
Whither  sails  thy  magic  vessel. 

Wain.     Now  I  make  thee  truthful  answer, 
Though  at  first  I  spake  deception ; 
I  am  sailing  to  the  Northland, 
Where  the  ogres  live  and  flourish, 
Where  they  drown  the  worthy  heroes, 
There  to  woo  the  Maid  of  Beauty, 
Sitting  on  the  bow  of  heaven, 
Woo  and  win  the  fairy  virgin, 
Bring  her  to  my  home  and  kindred. 

Scene  3. 

Then  Annikki 
As  she  heard  the  rightful  answer 
Knew  the  truth  was  fully  spoken. 
Straightway  left  unwashed  her  linen, 
Left  unrinsed  her  silks  and  ribbons, 
On  the  highway  by  the  sea-shore. 
On  her  arm  she  threw  her  long  robes, 
Hastened  to  the  forger's  furnace, 
To  the  blacksmith's  home  and  smithy. 
There  she  found  the  hero-artist 
Forging  out  a  bench  of  iron, 
And  adorning  it  with  silver. 
Soot  lay  thick  upon  his  forehead, 


41 


42  WERNERS  READINGS 

Soot  and  coal  upon  his  shoulders. 
On  the  threshold  speaks  Annikki. 

Anni.     Ilmarinen,  dearest  brother, 

Forge  me  now  a  loom  of  silver, 
Golden  rings  to  grace  my  fingers, 
Forge  me  gold  and  silver  ear-rings, 
Six  or  seven  golden  girdles, 
Golden  crosslets  for  my  bosom, 
For  my  head  forge  golden  trinkets, 
And  I'll  tell  a  tale  surprising, 
Tell  a  story  that  concerns  thee, 
Truthfully  I'll  tell  the  story. 

Ilmarinen.     If  thou'lt  tell  the  tale  sincerely, 
I  will  forge  thee  loom  of  silver, 
Golden  rings  and  silver  ear-rings, 
Golden  girdles  and  the  crosslets. 
And  forge  for  thy  head  the  trinkets. 
But  if  thou  shouldst  tell  me  falsely, 
I  shall  break  the  beauteous  jewels, 
Hurl  them  to  the  fire  and  furnace, 
Never  forge  thee  other  trinkets. 

Anni.     Dearest  brother,  Ilmarinen, 

Dost  thou  ever  think  to  marry 

Her,  already  thine  affianced  ? 

Shouldst  thou  wish  the  Maid  of  Beauty, 

Thou  must  forge  and  forge  unceasing, 

Hammering  the  days  and  nights  through  ; 

Forge  the  summer  hoofs  for  horses, 

Forge  them  iron  hoofs  for  winter, 

In  the  long  night,  forge  the  snow-sledge, 

Gaily  trim  it  in  the  day-time : 

Haste  thou,  then,  upon  thy  journey, 

To  thy  wooing  in  the  Northland. 

Thither  journeys  one  more  clever, 


AND  RECITATIONS.        ' 

Sails  another  now  before  thee, 

Thence  to  woo  the  Maid  of  Beauty. 

Three  long  years  thou  hast  been  wooing, 

Wainamoinen  now  is  sailing 

On  the  blue  back  of  the  waters, 

Sitting  at  his  helm  of  copper ; 

On  the  prow  are  golden  carvings, — 

Beautiful  his  boat  of  magic, 

Sailing  fleetly  o'er  the  billows, 

To  the  never  pleasant  Northland, 

To  the  dismal  Sariola. 

Ilma.     Good  Annikki,  worthy  sister, 

Go  and  heat  for  me  the  bathroom, 
Fill  with  heat  the  honey-chambers, 
Lay  the  fagots  on  the  fireplace, 
Lay  the  smaller  wood  around  them, 
Pour  some  water  through  the  ashes, 
Make  a  soap  of  magic  virtue, 
Thus  to  cleanse  my  blackened  visage, 
Thus  remove  the  soot  and  ashes. 

Then  Annikki,  kindly  sister, 

Quickly  warmed  her  brother's  bathroom; 

Gathered  pebbles  from  the  fire-stream, 

Threw  them  in  the  heating  waters; 

Made  a  soap  of  magic  virtue 

Thus  to  cleanse  the  iron  artist, 

Thus  to  beautify  the  suitor, 

Thus  to  make  the  hero  worthy. 

Ilmarinen,  ancient  blacksmith, 

Forged  the  wishes  of  his  sister, 

Ornaments  for  fair  Annikki, 

Rings  and  bracelets,  pins  and  ear-drops; 

To  the  maid  he  gave  the  trinkets 

And  the  sister  thus  made  answer : 


44  WERNERS  READINGS 

Anni.     I  have  set  thy  room  in  order, 
Everything  as  thou  desirest; 
Go,  lave  thy  head  to  flaxen  whiteness, 
Make  thy  cheeks  look  fresh  and  ruddy, 
That  thy  wooing  prove  successful. 

Ilmarinen,  magic  artist, 
Bathed  his  head  to  flaxen  whiteness, 
Laved  his  eyes  until  they  sparkled 
Like  the  moonlight  in  the  waters ; 
Wondrous  were  his  form  and  features, 
And  his  cheeks  like  ruddy  berries. 

Ilma.     Fair  Annikki,  lovely  sister, 

Bring  me  now  my  silken  raiment, 
Bring  my  best  and  richest  vesture, 
Bring  me  now  my  softest  linen. 

Straightway  did  the  helpful  sister 
Bring  the  finest  of  his  raiment, 
Brought  him  shoes  of  marten-leatner, 
Brought  a  coat  with  scarlet  trimming, 
Brought  a  red  shawl  trimmed  in  ermine, 
Brought  for  him  his  magic  girdle, 
Brought  him  gloves  with  golden  wristlets. 
Ilmarinen,  blacksmith  artist, 
Clad  himself  to  look  his  finest, 
Then  he  thus  addressed  his  servant : 


[To  servant.] 
Ilma.     Hitch  for  me  a  fleet  foot-racer, 

Hitch  him  for  me  to  my  snow-sledge, 
For  I  start  upon  a  journey. 

Servant.     Thou  hast  seven  fleet  foot-racers, 

"Which  of  these  shall  I  make  ready  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  45 

Ilma.     Put  the  grey  steed  in  the  harness, 
Hitch  him  to  my  sledge  of  magic ; 
Place  six  cuckoos  on  the  break-board, 
Seven  blue-birds  on  the  cross-bars, 
To  make  the  maidens  look  and  listen, 
As  the  cuckoos  call  and  echo. 
Bring  me  then  my  largest  bear-skin, 
Bring  me,  too,  my  marten  fur  robes, 
As  a  cover  and  protection. 

[Servant  leaves.     Umarinen  entreats  Ukko.] 
Send  thy  snow-flakes,  Ukko,  father, 
Let  them  gently  fall  from  heaven, 
Let  them  cover  all  the  heather, 
Let  them  hide  the  berry-bushes, 
That  my  sledge  may  glide  in  freedom 
O'er  the  hills  to  Sariola. 
Good  luck  to  my  reins  and  traces, 
Gfood  luck  to  my  shafts  and  runners. 
God  protect  me  on  my  journey  ! 

Umarinen,  artist  blacksmith, 
Draws  the  reins  upon  the  racers, 
Fast  and  faster  flies  the  fleet  foot 
O'er  the  alder  hills  and  mountains. 
On  the  third  day  Umarinen 
Overtakes  old  Wainamoinen, 
Hails  him  in  his  magic  vessel, 
And  addresses  thus  the  minstrel: 

Ilma.     0  thou  ancient  Wainamoinen, 

Let  us  woo  in  peace  the  maiden, 
Let  each  labor  long  to  win  her, 
Let  her  wed  the  one  she  chooses, 
Him  selecting,  let  her  follow. 

Wain.     I  agree  to  thy  proposal, 

Not  by  force,  nor  faithless  measures, 


46 


WERNER'S  READINGS 

Shall  we  woo  the  Maid  of  Beauty. 
Let  the  unsuccessful  suitor 
Harbor  neither  wrath  nor  envy, 
For  the  hero  that  she  follows. 


Scene  4. 

Thus  agreeing,  on  they  journey, 
Each  according  to  his  pleasure ; 
Fleetly  does  the  steed  fly  onward, 
Makes  the  hills  of  Northland  tremble, 
As  lie  gallops  on  his  journey. 
Quickly  flies  the  magic  vessel, 
Swiftly  sails  the  ship  of  beauty. 
Time  had  gone  but  little  distance, 
Ere  the  dogs  began  their  barking, 
Wafcch-dosrs  of  the  court  of  Louhi. 


Master  of  Pohyola. 


Maid  of  Beauty. 


Master. 


Hostess  of  Pohyola. 


Go  and  learn,  my  worthy  daughter, 
Why  the  watch-dogs  have  been  barking, 
Why  the  black  dog  signals  danger. 

Dearest  father 
I  must  tend  my  flock  of  lambkins, 
I  must  tarn  the  nether  millstone, 
Grind  to  flour  the  grains  of  barley, 
Run  the  grindings  through  the  sifter; 
Only  have  I  time  for  grinding. 

Go  and  learn,  my  trustied  consort, 
Why  the  Northland  dogs  are  barking. 
Why  the  black  dog  signals  danger. 

I  must  feed  my  hungry  household, 
Must  prepare  a  worthy  dinner, 
I  must  bake  the  toothsome  biscuit, 
Knead  the  dough  till  it  is  ready, 
Only  have  I  strength  for  kneading. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


47 


Master.     Dames  are  always  in  a  hurry, 
Maidens,  too,  are  ever  busy, 
Whether  warming  at  the  oven, 
Or  asleep  upon  their  couches ; 
Go,  my  son,  and  learn  the  danger, 
Why  the  black  dog  growls  displeasure. 

Son.     I'm  in  haste  to  grind  my  hatchet, 
I  must  chop  my  log  to  cord-wood, 
For  the  fire  must  cut  the  faggots, 
I  must  split  the  wood  in  fragments, 
Large  the  pile  and  small  the  firewood, 

Only  have  I  strength  for  chopping. 
Still  the  watch-dog  growls  in  anger, 
G-rowls  the  black  dog  on  the  hill-top, 
Setting  all  things  in  an  uproar. 
Then  the  Master  of  Pohyola 
Went  himself  to  learn  the  reason 
For  the  barking  of  the  watch-dogs. 
Strode  he  through  the  spacious  courtyard, 
To  the  summit  of  the  uplands. 
Looking  toward  the  distant  broad  sea, 
At  full  sail  he  saw  a  vessel, 
Entering  the  bay  of  Lempo; 
Saw  a  sledge  of  magic  colors, 
Gliding  up  the  curving  sea-shore, 
O'er  the  snow-field  of  Pohyola. 
Then  the  master  hastened  forward 
And  he  spake  to  all  as  follows : 

Master.     Often  strangers  journey  hither, 
Sailing  in  a  scarlet  vessel, 
Often  strangers  come  in  sledges 
To  the  honey-lands  of  Louhi. 

Hostess.    Dearest  daughter,  winsome  maiden, 
Dost  thou  wish  a  noble  suitor  ? 


48  WERNERS  READINGS 

Should  these  heroes  come  to  woo  thee, 

Wouldst  thou  leave  thy  home  and  country, 

Be  the  bride  of  him  that  pleases, 

Be  his  faithful  life-companion  ? 

He  that  comes  upon  the  waters, 

Sailing  in  a  magic  vessel, 

Is  the  good  old  Wainamoinen ; 

In  his  ship  are  countless  treasures, 

Richest  presents  from  Wainola. 

He  that  rides  here  in  his  snow-sledge 

With  the  cuckoos  and  the  blue-birds, 

Is  the  blacksmith,  Ilmarinen ; 

Cometh  hither  empty-handed, 

Only  brings  some  wisdom  sayings. 

When  they  come  within  the  dwelling, 

Bring  a  bowl  of  honeyed  viands, 

Bring  a  pitcher  with  two  handles, 

Give  to  him  that  thou  wouldst  follow; 

Give  it  to  old  Wainamoinen, 

Him  that  brings  the  countless  treasures, 

Costly  presents  in  his  vessel, 

Priceless  gems  from  Kalevala. 

Maid.    Good,  indeed,  advice  maternal, 
But  I  will  not  wed  for  riches ; 
For  his  worth  I'll  choose  a  husband, 
For  his  youth  and  fine  appearance, 
For  his  noble  form  and  features. 
In  the  olden  times  the  maidens 
Were  not  sold  by  anxious  mothers 
To  the  suitors  whom  they  loved  not. 
I  shall  choose,  without  his  treasures, 
Ilmarinen,  for  his  wisdom, 
For  his  worth  and  good  behavior. 

Hostess.    Senseless  daughter,  child  of  folly, 

Thus  to  choose  the  coal-stained  blacksmith, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  49 

Keep  his  humble  house  in  order. 
Little  use  his  wit  and  wisdom, 
When  compared  with  gold  and  silver. 

Maid.     I  will  never,  never,  never 

Wed  the  ancient  Wainamoinen, 
With  his  gold  and  precious  jewels; 
Never  will  I  be  a  helpmate 
To  a  hero  in  his  dotage. 

Wainamoinen  safely  landing 
In  advance  of  Ilmarinen, 
Pulls  his  gaily-covered  vessel 
From  the  waves  upon  the  sea-beach, 
Straightway  hastens  to  the  guest-room 
Of  the  Hostess  of  Pohyola, 
Speaks  unto  the  Maid  of  Beauty. 

Wain.     Come,  with  me,  0  lovely  maiden, 
Be  my  bride  and  life-companion, 
Share  with  me  my  joys  and  sorrows, 
Be  my  honored  wife,  I  pray  thee. 

Maid.     Hast  thou  built  for  me  the  vessel, 
Built  for  me  the  ship  of  magic  ? 

Wain.     I  have  built  the  promised  vessel, 
It  will  weather  roughest  billows, 
It  will  ride  the  waves  in  safety 
On  the  angry  seas  of  Northland. 

Maid.     I  care  not  to  ride  the  billows, 

Cannot  live  with  such  a  husband ; 
Storms  would  bring  us  pain  and  trouble, 
Cannot  keep  thy  home  in  order, 
Cannot  be  thy  life-companion, 
Cannot  wed  you,  Wainamoinen. 


50 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Scene  5. 

Ilmarinen  hastens  forward 
To  the  Hostess  of  Pohyola. 
Into  Louhi's  home  and  presence, 
Servants  come  with  silver  pitchers, 
Honey  drink  is  brought  and  offered 
To  the  blacksmith  of  Wainola ; 
Ilmarinen  thus  replying : 

Ilma.     I  shall  not  in  all  my  lifetime 

Taste  the  drink  that  thou  hast  brought  me, 
Till  I  see  the  Maid  of  Beauty, 
Fairy  Maiden  of  the  Rainbow, 
For  whose  hand  I  journey  hither. 

Hostess.     Thine  affianced  is  not  ready, 

Only  canst  thou  woo  my  daughter, 
When  thou'st  ploughed  the  field  of  Hisi. 

Ilma.     Thou  of  Light  and  Dawn  the  daughter, 
Tell  me,  dost  thou  not  remember 
Thou  didst  utter  oath  the  strongest, 
In  the  ears  of  the  Almighty, 
If  I  forged  for  thee  the  magic  jewel, 
Thou  wouldst  follow  me  hereafter, 
Be  my  bride,  my  life-companion, 
Be  my  honored  wife  forever  ? 
Now  thy  mother  is  exacting, 
Will  not  give  to  me  her  daughter, 
Till  I've  plowed  the  field  of  serpents. 

Maid.     Forge  thyself  a  golden  ploughshare, 
Then  canst  thou,  0  Ilmarinen, 
Plough  the  hissing  soil  of  Hisi. 

Ilmarinen,  welcome  suitor, 
Straightway  builds  a  forge  and  smithy, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


51 


Forges  then  a  golden  ploughshare ; 
Goes  to  plough  the  field  of  serpents. 
In  the  field  were  countless  vipers ; 
Thus  he  stills  the  snakes  of  Lempo : 
"Vipers,  ye  by  God  created, 
Ukko  is  your  greatest  master, 
Crawl  ye  to  the  nearest  thicket ; 
If  your  poison  heads  be  lifted, 
Then  will  mighty  Ukko  smite  them 
With  the  lightning  of  his  anger." 
Thus  the  blacksmith,  Ilmarinen, 
Safely  plowed  the  field  of  serpents, 
Buries  them  and  quick  returning 
Thus  addressed  Pohyola's  Hostess : 

Ilma.     I  have  banished  all  the  serpents, 

Give  me,  ancient  dame,  thy  daughter, 
Fairest  maiden  of  the  Northland. 

Hostess.     I  shall  not  grant  to  thee,  my  daughter, 
Till  Tuoni's  bear  is  muzzled, 
Hundreds  have  been  sent  to  hunt  him 
All  have  perished  in  Manola. 

[To  Maid  of  Beauty.] 
Ilma.     Still  another  test  demanded ! 
I  must  go  to  Tuonela. 
Bridle  there  the  bear  of  Mana, 
Bring  him  from  the  Death-land  forest, 
From  Tuoni's  grove  and  empire. 

Maid.     Forge  of  steel  a  magic  bridle, 

Make  the  straps  of  steel  and  copper, 
Bridle,  then,  the  bear  of  Mana, 
Lead  him  from  Tuoni's  forests. 

Then  the  blacksmith 
Forged  of  steel  a  magic  bridle, 


52  WERNER'S  READINGS 

In  a  rock  beneath  the  water, 

In  the  foam  of  triple  currents ; 

Straightway  went  the  bear  to  muzzle, 

In  the  forest  of  the  Death-land. 

When  this  task  had  been  completed, 

Ilmarinen,  quick  returning, 

Thus  addressed  the  ancient  Louhi : 

Ilma.  Give  me  now  my  bride  affianced ; 
I  have  brought  the  bear  of  Mana, 
From  Tuoni's  fields  and  forests. 

Hostess.     I  will  only  give  my  daughter, 

When  the  monster  pike  thou  catchest, 
In  Manola's  fatal  waters, 
Using  neither  fish  nor  tackle ; 
Hundreds  have  been  sent  to  catch  him, 
No  one  yet  has  been  successful. 

[To  Maid  of  Beauty.] 

Ilma.     Now  a  third  task  is  demanded, 

Much  more  difficult  than  ever ; 

I  must  catch  the  pike  of  Mana, 

And  without  my  fishing-tackle. 

Maid.     Thou  shouldst  never  be  discouraged; 
In  thy  furnace  forge  an  eagle, 
He  will  catch  the  fish  in  safety. 

[Addresses  Eagle.] 
Ilma.     Mighty  eagle,  bird  of  beauty, 
Fly  thou  whither  I  direct  thee, 
To  the  blue  deeps  of  the  Death-stream, 
Catch  for  me  the  pike,  sea  monster. 

Then  the  eagle  quickly  circles, 
Swoops  to  catch  the  pike  of  Mana, 
Tears  the  monster  fish  in  pieces, 
Gives  the  head  to  Ilmarinen. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

Ilma.     0  thou  bird  of  evil  nature, 

Thou  hast  eaten  what  I  needed, 
Thus  to  mar  the  spoils  of  conquest. 
But  the  pike's  head  I  will  take  thus 
To  the  mother  of  the  Maiden. 
***** 

I  have  done  as  thou  demandest, 
I  have  brought  to  thee  this  trophy. 
Wilt  thou  give  me  now  thy  daughter? 
Tell  me,  is  the  Maiden  ready  ? 

Hostess.     I  will  give  to  thee  my  daughter, 
Fit  companion  of  thy  fireside, 
Help  and  joy  of  all  thy  lifetime. 

Now  we  sing  of  feasts  and  dances, 

Sing  of  Ilmarinen's  marriage. 

Great,  indeed,  the  preparation 

For  the  people's  entertainment. 

When  the  loaves  were  baked  and  ready, 

Wnen  the  dishes  all  were  seasoned, 

Louhi,  Hostess  of  Pohyola, 

Called  to  her  a  trusted  maiden, 

Sent  her  to  invite  the  people 

To  the  marriage  of  her  daughter. 


53 


Hostess.     Oh,  my  trusted,  truthful  maiden, 
Call  together  all  my  people, 
Ask  the  rich,  and  ask  the  needy, 
Ask  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  crippled ; 
Ask  the  young,  and  ask  the  old  ones ; 
Go  thou  to  the  hills  and  hedges, 
To  the  highways  and  the  byways ; 
Ask  the  whole  of  Sariola, 
Ask  the  people  of  Rarela, 
Ask  the  ancient  Wainamoinen. 


54 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Thereupon,  the  trusted  maiden 
Spread  the  wedding-invitations 
To  the  people  of  Pohyola, 
To  the  tribes  of  Kalevala. 

Hostess.     Who  are  these  in  bright  apparel  ? 
Are  they  friends  or  hostile  armies  ? 
I  had  thought  the  winds  were  raging, 
Or,  perchance,  the  ocean  roaring ; 
But  found  my  son-in-law  was  coming 
With  his  bride,  the  Maid  of  Beauty. 
Should  you  ask  me  how  I  knew  him, 
'Mid  the  host  of  men  and  heroes. 
I  should  answer,  I  should  tell  you, 
As  the  oak  tree  in  the  forest, 
As  the  moon  among  the  planets. 
Drives  the  groom  a  coal-black  courser. 
Come,  ye  small  lads  of  the  village, 
Lead  the  suitor  to  my  homestead. 

[Ilmarinen  enters.] 
Thanks  are  due  to  thee,  0  Ukko ! 
That  my  son-in-law  has  entered ; 
Let  me  now  my  halls  examine ; 
Finest  linen  on  my  tables, 
Softest  furs  upon  my  benches, 
All  my  rooms  in  perfect  order. 

Ilma.    Send,  0  Ukko,  health  and  pleasure, 
To  this  ancient  home  and  dwelling. 

Hostess.     Let  thy  coming  be  auspicious 

To  this  dwelling,  lowly  fashioned, 
'Mid  the  lindens  and  the  aspens ; 
Come,  ye  maidens  that  should  serve  me, 
Come,  ye  fellows  from  the  village, 
Come  with  me,  behold  the  bridegroom, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

Chosen  suitor  of  my  daughter ; 
Come,  ye  fellows  from  the  hamlets, 
Lead  thee  here  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
To  the  seat  of  greatest  honor 
Facing  all  the  guests  of  Northland. 

Spake,  then,  ancient  Wainamoinen  : 

Wain.     Grant,  0  Ukko,  God  of  justice, 

Grant  thy  blessing  on  the  feasting ; 
Send  enjoyment,  health  and  comfort 
To  the  people  here  assembled, 
To  the  host  and  to  the  hostess, 
To  the  bride  and  to  the  bridegroom, 
That  our  lives  may  end  in  honor, 
That  we  may  recall  with  pleasure 
Ilmarinen's  magic  marriage 
To  the  Maiden  of  the  Rainbow. 


55 


HOW  SIEGFRIED  WAS  SLAIN. 


[From  the  "  Nibelungen  Lied."] 


GUNTHER  and  Hagan,  the  warriors  fierce  and  bold, 
To  execute  their  treason  resolved  to  scour  the  wold ; 
The  bear,  the  boar,  the  wild  bull,  by  hill  or  dale  or  fen, 
To  hunt  with  keen-edged  javelins ;  what  fitter  sport  for  valiant  men  ? 

In  lordly  pomp  rode  with  them  Siegfried,  the  champion  strong, 
Good  store  of  costly  viands  they  brought  with  them  along. 
Anon  by  a  cool  runnel  he  lost  his  guiltless  life — 
'Twas  so  devised  by  Brunhild,  King  Gunther's  moody  wife. 

But  first  he  sought  the  chamber,  where  he  his  lady  found ; 
He  and  his  friends  already  had  on  the  sumpters  bound 
Their  gorgeous  hunting  raiment ;  they  o'er  the  Rhine  would  go. 
Never  before  was  Krimhild  sunk  so  deep  in  woe. 


56  WERNER'S  READINGS 

On  her  mouth  of  roses  he  kissed  his  lady  dear: 
"God  grant  me,  dame,  returning  in  health  to  see  thee  here; 
So  may  those  eyes  see  me,  too ;  meanwhile,  be  blithe  and  gay 
Among  thy  gentle  kinsmen;  I  must  hence  away." 

She  thus  bespake  her  husband:  "Give  up  that  chase  of  thine. 
I  dreamt  last  night  of  evil,  how  two  fierce  forest  swine 
Over  the  heath  pursued  thee ;  the  flowers  turned  bloody  red. 
I  cannot  help  thus  weeping ;  I'm  chilled  with  mortal  dread. 

"I  fear  some  secret  treason,  and  cannot  lose  thee  hence, 
Lest  malice  should  be  borne  thee  for  misconceived  offence. 
Stay,  my  beloved  Siegfried;  take  not  my  words  amiss, 
'Tis  the  true  love  I  bear  thee  that  bids  me  counsel  this." 

"  Back  shall  I  be  shortly,  my  own  beloved  mate. 
Not  a  soul  in  Rhineland  know  I,  who  bears  me  hate. 
I'm  well  with  all  my  kinsmen ;  they're  all  my  firm  allies ; 
Nor  have  I  from  any  e'er  deserved  otherwise." 

"Nay !  go  not,  dearest  Siegfried!  'tis  e'en  thy  death  I  dread. 
Last  night  I  dreamt  two  mountains  fell  thundering  on  thy  head, 
And  I  no  more  beheld  thee  ;  if  thou  from  me  wilt  go, 
My  heart  will  sure  be  breaking  with  bitterness  of  woe." 

Round  her  peerless  body  his  clasping  arms  he  threw ; 
Lovingly  he  kissed  her,  that  faithful  wife  and  true ; 
Then  took  his  leave,  and  parted — in  a  moment  all  was  o'er — 
Living,  alas  poor  lady  !  she  never  saw  him  more. 

Many  a  well-laden  sumpter  before  them  crossed  the  Rhine, 
That  for  the  fellow-hunters  carried  bread,  and  wine, 
And  flesh,  and  fish  in  plenty,  with  every  dainty  thing 
That  might  become  the  table  of  such  a  mighty  king. 

Their  course  the  noble  hunters  checked  in  an  open  glade, 
Where  the  wild  beast  that  haunted  the  neighboring  greenwood  shade 
Passed  to  and  fro  by  custom ;  the  hunt  they  here  would  hold. 
Thither,  at  length,  came  Siegfried,  straight  to  the  King — 'twas  bold. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  57 

Now  every  path  and  outlet  the  huntsmen  had  beset, 
When  thus  bespake  Sir  Siegfried  the  chiefs  who  there  were  met : 
"  Ye  bold  and  dauntless  warriors !  who  will  the  honor  claim 
To  enter  first  the  forest,  and  bring  us  to  the  game  ?  " 

Ere  we  begin  our  pastime,"  Sir  Hagan  straight  replied, 
Here  in  this  glade  together,  'twere  better  first  divide. 
We  then  shall  see  more  clearly,  my  lords  as  well  as  I, 
Who's  the  most  cunning  sportsman  of  all  this  company. 

"Let  us  divide  amongst  us  the  huntsmen  and  the  hounds, 
Then  each,  where'er  he  pleases,  beat  all  these  woody  bounds, 
And  who  excels  his  comrades  shall  thanks  have  from  the  rest." 
Not  long  the  hunters  lingered,  but  started  on  their  quest. 

Then  said  the  good  Sir  Siegfried,  "  I  do  not  need  a  pack, 
One  well-trained  hound  will  serve  me  the  lurking  beasts  to  track, 
And  the  close  scent  to  follow  through  every  bush  and  brake. 
We'll  now  begin  our  hunting,"  so  Krimhild's  husband  spake. 

With  that,  an  aged  huntsman  a  watchful  lime  hound  took, 
And  shortly  brought  the  champion  into  a  shady  nook, 
Where  stores  of  beasts  were  couching ;  as  each  sprang  from  his  lair, 
The  warriors,  like  good  hunters,  fell  on  and  caught  them  there. 

All  that  the  lime  hound  started,  anon  with  mighty  hand 
Were  slain  by  noble  Siegfried,  the  chief  of  Netherland. 
No  beast  could  there  outrun  him,  so  swift  his  steed  could  race ; 
He  won  from  all  high  praises  for  mastery  in  the  chase. 


W 


hatever  he  attempted  he  went  the  best  before, 
[The  first  beast  he  encountered  was  a  fierce  half-bred  boar. 

im  with  a  mighty  death-stroke  he  stretched  upon  the  ground ; 
jJust  after  in  a  thicket  a  lion  huge  he  found. 

Him  the  lime  hound  started — his  bow  Sir  Siegfried  drew ; 
With  a  keen-headed  arrow  he  shot  the  lion  through. 
But  three  faint  bounds  thereafter  the  dying  monster  made ; 
(His  wond'ring  fellow-huntsmen  thanks  to  Sir  Siegfried  paid. 


58  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Then  one  upon  another  a  buffalo,  an  elk, 
He  slew,  four  strong  ure-oxen,  and,  last,  a  savage  sheik. 
No  beast,  how  swift  soever,  could-leave  his  steed  behind; 
Scarcely  their  speed  could  profit  the  flying  hart  or  hind. 

Next  the  sagacious  limer  a  monstrous  wild  boar  traced; 
Just  then  the  master-hunter  came  sudden  up  in  haste, 
And  crossed  his  path  undaunted  as  he  to  fly  began. 
Straight  the  churning  monster  at  his  bold  opponent  ran. 

Then  forward  sprang  Sir  Siegfried,  and  with  his  sword  him  slew, 
Such  feat,  I  ween,  no  hunter  besides  had  dared  to  do. 
Then  leashed  they  the  good  lime  hound,  and  from  the  thicket  le( 
And  told  all  the  Burgundians  how  Siegfried's  chase  had  sped. 

Then  said  his  merry  himtsmen :  "Sir  Siegfried,  be  so  kind 
As  not  our  wood  to  empty,  but  leave  some  game  behind; 
There'll  else  be  nothing  living  on  mountain  or  on  wold." 
The  champion  at  their  jesting  his  laughter  scarce  could  hold. 

They  heard,  then,  all  about  them,  throughout  those  forest  grounds 
Such  shouting  and  such  baying  of  huntsmen  and  of  hounds, 
That  hill  and  wood  reechoed  with  the  wild  uproar. 
Th'  attendants  had  uncoupled  four  and  twenty  dogs  or  more. 

Then  full  many  a  monster  was  doomed  his  last  to  groan. 
They  thought  with  glad  expectance  to  challenge  for  their  own, 
The  praise  for  the  best  hunting ;  but  lower  sunk  their  pride, 
When  to  the  tryst-fire  shortly  they  saw  Sir  Siegfried  ride. 

The  hunting  now  was  over,  for  the  most  part,  at  least ; 
Game  was  brought  in  plenty  and  skins  of  many  a  beast 
To  the  place  of  meeting,  and  laid  the  hearth  before. 
Ah  !  to  the  busy  kitchen  what  full  supplies  they  bore  ! 

Then  bade  Gfunther  summon  the  noble  hunting  crew 
To  the  royal  breakfast ;  a  horn  a  huntsman  blew 
That  far  and  wide  reechoed,  and  told  to  all  around 
That  by  the  tryst-fire  ready  the  King  was  to  be  found. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  59 

Said  one  of  Siegfried's  huntsmen :  "  I  heard  a  warning  blast, 
That  thrilling  horn  assures  me  our  hunting-time  is  past ; 
We  must  back  to  our  fellows ;  answer  it  will  I," 
So  through  the  wood  resounding  rang  question  and  reply. 

Then  spake  the  good  Sir  Siegfried,  "Well,  let  us  leave  the  wood." 
His  courser  bore  him  smoothly,  fast  pricked  his  comrades  good. 
With  their  noise  they  roused  a  monster,  a  wild  bear,  fierce  and  grim. 
Said  Siegfried,  o'er  his  shoulder  to  those  who  followed  him, 

"  Now,  comrades,  look  for  pastime  !     See  you  yon  thicket  there  ? 
Slip  the  dog  directly;  I  spy  a  monstrous  bear. 
The  same  shall  instant  with  us,  hence  to  the  trysting-place ; 
To  get  off  in  safety,  swift  he  indeed  must  pace." 

Straight  they  slipped  the  limer ;  off  leapt  the  bear  with  speed ; 
Sir  Siegfried  thought  to  catch  him  through  swiftness  of  his  steed, 
He  came  on  fallen  timber,  so  thus  it  could  not  be ; 
Then  deemed  himself  the  monster  from  his  fierce  hunter  free. 

Down  sprang  from  horse  Sir  Siegfried,  and  plied  on  foot  the  chase  •, 
Naught  then  could  aid  the  monster  o'ermastered  in  the  race ; 
Sir  Siegfried  strongly  seized  him,  and  cast  a  rope  around, 
And,  ere  he  once  could  wound  him,  the  struggling  bear  he  bound. 

So  fast  the  warrior  bound  him,  he  could  not  scratch  nor  bite, 
Then  tied  him  to  the  saddle,  and  after  mounted  light. 
So  to  the  tryst-fire,  laughing,  with  his  snorting  load, 
By  way  of  sport  and  pastime,  the  fearless  warrior  rode. 

So  stately  from  the  forest  rode  on  the  noble  knight, 
The  men  of  G-unther  marked  him  soon  as  he  came  in  sight, 
And  ran  and  held  his  courser,  and  gave  him  'tendance  fair. 
Meanwhile  close  to  the  saddle  lay  bound  the  groaning  bear. 

The  knight,  from  horse  alighting,  soft  the  band  untied 

That  bound  his  paws  and  muzzle ;  straight,  when  the  bear  they  spied, 

All  the  pack  of  yelpers  opened  on  him  loud. 

The  beast  made  for  the  forest,  scattering  the  startled  crowd. 


60  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Scared  by  the  din  and  uproar  he  through  the  kitchen  raced. 
Ah !  how  the  cooks  and  scullions  from  round  the  fire  he  chased, 
Upset  were  pans  and  kettles,  and  store  of  savory  hashes, 
Roast,  boiled  and  stewed  together  were  hissing  in  the  ashes. 

From  their  seats  upstarted  the  lords  and  all  the  band; 
The  bear  flew  into  fury;  straight  gave  the  King  command 
The  hounds  to  uncouple,  and  slip  them  on  the  prey — 
Had  it  all  thus  ended,  it  had  been  a  merry  day. 

With  bows  and  mighty  bow-spears  (no  more  was  quiet  there), 
Up  sprang  the  light  foot  warriors  and  chased  the  flying  bear. 
The  dogs  were  there  so  many,  none  dared  a  dart  to  fling. 
With  shouting  and  hallooing  they  made  the  mountains  ring. 

Before  the  dogs  he  scampered ;  they  followed  where  he  led ; 
But  'twas  the  swift  foot  Siegfried  that  caught  him  as  he  fled. 
Loud  shouted  each  beholder  that  'twas  a  matchless  blow. 
Now  the  high-born  hunters  were  bidden  to  table  go. 

Then  said  the  noble  Siegfried :  "I  needs  must  wonder  here 
That  joyous  wine  is  wanting  with  such  abundant  cheer. 
When  so  o'erflows  the  kitchen,  how  is  't  the  cellar's  dry  ? 
Treat  merry  hunters  better,  or  hunt  no  more  will  I." 

Then  answering  from  the  table  spoke  G-unther,  false  and  fair : 
"  I  thought  that  this  day's  hunting  was  not  to  be  held  here, 
But  in  the  wood  of  Spessart,  so  thither  sent  the  wine." 
Said  Siegfried — "Better  by  far  have  placed  us  close  beside  the 
Rhine." 

Meanwhile  were  slowly  lifted  on  many  a  groaning  wain 
The  beasts  in  that  wild  forest  by  Siegfried's  manhood  slain. 
But  straight  he  would  to  the  mountain  the  running  brook  to  find, 
And  so  advanced  the  treason  his  faithless  foes  designed. 

Now,  when  to  the  broad  linden  they  all  would  take  their  way, 
Thus  the  fraudful  Hagan,  "  Full  oft  have  I  heard  say, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  61 

That  none  a  match  in  swiftness  for  Krimhild's  lord  can  be, 
Whene'er  to  race  he  pleases ;  would  he  grant  us  this  to  see  !  " 

Then  spake  the  Netherlander,  Siegfried,  with  open  heart, 
"Well,  then,  let's  make  the  trial !    Together  we  will  start." 
"Agreed!  "  said  treacherous  Hagan,  "let  us  each  other  try." 
Then  rejoined  the  fearless  champion,  "And  if  you  pass  me  by, 


"  Down  at  your  feet  I'll  lay  me  humbled  on  the  grass." 
When  these  words  heard  Gunther,  what  joy  could  his  surpass  ! 
Then  said  Krimhild's  lord,  "And  this  I  tell  you  more, 
I'll  carry  all  th'  equipment  that  in  the  chase  I  wore ; 

"My  spear,  my  shield,  my  vesture— leave  will  I  nothing  out." 
His  sword,  then,  and  his  quiver  he  girt  him  quick  about. 
King  Gfunther  and  Sir  Hagan  to  strip  were  nothing  slow ; 
Both  for  the  race  stood  ready  in  garments  white  as  snow. 

Long  bounds,  like  two  wild  panthers,  o'er  the  grass  they  took, 
But  seen  was  noble  Siegfried  before  them  at  the  brook. 
Against  the  spreading  linden  he  leaned  his  mighty  spear 
Laid  down  his  quiver,  ungirt  his  sword — the  chief  without  a  peer. 

But  for  all  the  thirst  that  parched  him  one  drop  he  never  drank, 
Till  the  King  had  finished.     He  had  full  evil  thank ; 
Dear  paid  he  for  his  courtesy ;  his  bow,  his  matchless  blade, 
His  weapons  all,  Sir  Hagan  far  from  their  lord  conveyed. 

Then,  as  to  drink  Sir  Siegfried  down  kneeling  low  he  found, 
He  pierced  him  through  the  corselet,  that  sudden  from  the  wound 
Forth  the  life-blood  gushed ;  still  up  he  started  as  he  were  wood. 
but  from  betwixt  his  shoulders  his  own  huge  boar-spear  stood. 

But,  ah  !  the  deadly-wounded  nor  sword  nor  quiver  found ; 
His  shield  alone  beside  him  lay  there  upon  the  ground. 
This  from  the  bank  he  lifted  and  straight  toward  Hagan  ran ; 
He  hurled  it  with  such  power,  by  fieetness  could  not  escape  King 
Gfunther's  man. 


62  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Had  he  in  hand  good  Balmung,  the  murderer  he  had  slain ; 
A  cloud  came  o'er  his  sight ;  he  writhed  in  mortal  pain. 
So  the  lord  of  Krimhild  among  the  flow'rets  fell, 
As  from  the  wound  his  heart's  blood  fast  did  well. 

Then  spake  he  dying,  and  speaking  sighed  full  deep : 
"Oh,  King !  if  thou  a  promise  with  any  one  will  keep, 
Let  me  in  this  last  moment  thy  grace  and  favor  find 
For  my  dear  love  and  lady,  the  wife  I  leave  behind. 

"  Remember,  she's  thy  sister,  yield  her  a  sister's  right; 

Guard  her  with  faith  and  honor,  as  thou'rt  a  king  and  knight." 

Thither  ran  all  the  warriors,  where  lay  the  lofty  head, 

And  the  true  and  faithful  sorrowed  for  the  mighty  Siegfried  dead, 

Then  said  Sir  Hagan:  "  This  deed  will  prove  our  bale ; 

Who  did  the  deed  keep  secret,  and  all  keep  in  one  tale, 

That  the  good  lord  of  Krimhild  to  hunt  alone  preferred, 

And  was  singly  slain  by  robbers  as  through  the  wood  he  spurred.' 


THE  LADY  OF  VAIN  DELIGHT. 


GILES    FLETCHER. 
[In  this  quaint  poem,  M^and  v  are  frequently  used  interchangeably.] 


pRESVMPTION,  her  pavilion  spread, 
.        Ouer  the  temple,  the  bright  starres  among; 
(Ah  !  that  her  foot  should  trample  on  the  head. 
Of  that  most  reverend  place  !)     And  a  lewd  throng 
Of  wanton  boyes  sung  her  a  pleasant  song 
Of  love,  long  life,  of  mercie,  and  of  grace ; 
And  euery  one  her  deerly  did  embrace, 
And  shee  herselfe  enamour'd  was  of  her  owne  face. 

A  painted  face,  belied  with  vermeyl  store, 
That  in  one  hand  a  guilded  anchor  wore  j 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

Not  fixed  on  the  rocke,  but  on  the  brirnme 
Of  the  wide  aire  shee  let  it  loosely  -swimme : 
Her  other  hand  a  sprinkle  carried, 
And  euer  when  her  ladie  wanered, 
Court  holy-water  all  upon  her  sprinkelid. 

Poor  foole  !  shee  thought  herselfe  in  wondrous  price 

With  God,  as  if  in  Paradise  she  wear ; 
But,  wear  shee  not  in  a  foole's  paradise, 

Shee  might  ha'e  seene  more  reason  to  despere. 
Her  tent  with  sunny  cloudes  was  seel'd  aloft, 
And  so  exceeding  shone  with  a  false  light 
That  heau'n  itselfe  to  her  it  seemed  oft ; 
Build  castles  in  the  aire,  with  idle  paine, 
Her  heart  shee  never  had  in  all  her  body  vaine. 

But  when  shee  saw  her  speech  preuailed  naught, 

Herselfe  shee  tumbled  headlong  to  the  floor : 
But  Him,  the  angels  on  their  feathers  caught, 
And  to  an  ayrie  mountaine  nimbly  bore, 
Whose  snowie  shoulders,  like  some  chaulkie  shore, 
Restless  Olympus  seem'd  to  rest  vpon, 
With  all  his  swimming  globes :  so  both  are  gone, 
The  Dragon  with  the  Lamb — ah,  vnmeet  paragon! 

All  suddenly  the  hill  his  snowe  devours, 

In  liew  thereof  a  goodly  garden  grew, 
As  if  the  snow  had  melted  into  flow'rs, 

Which  their  sweet  breath  in  subtill  vapours  threw. 
Not  lonely  Ida  might  with  this  compare, 
Though  many  streams  his  banks  besiluered ; 
Though  Xanthus  with  his  golden  sands  he  bare, 
Nor  Hylba,  though  his  thyme  depastured ; 
As  faste  againe  with  honie  blossomed ; 
Ne  Rhodope,  ne  Temple's  flow'ry  playne  : 
Adonis'  garden  was  to  this  but  vayne, 
Though  Plato  on  his  beds  a  floode  of  praise  did  raine. 


64  WERNER'S  READINGS 

For  in  all  these,  some  one  thing  most  did  grow, 
But  in  this  one  grew  all  things  else  beside ; 

For  sweet  Varietie  herselfe  did  throw 

To  euery   banke  :  here  all  the  ground  shee  dyed 
In  lillie  white ;  there  pinks  emblazed  wide, 

And  damask't  all  the  earth ;  and  here  shee  shed 

Blew  violets,  and  there  came  roses  red, 

And  every  sight  the  yielding  sense,  as  captive  led. 

Vpon  a  lillie  banke  her  head  shee  cast, 

On  which  the  bowre  of  Vain  Delight  was  built ; 

White  and  red  roses  for  her  face  wear  plac't, 
And  for  her  tresses  marigolds  wear  spilt : 
Them  broadly  shee  displaid  like  flaming  guilt, 

Till  in  the  ocean  the  glad  day  wear  drownd ; 

Then  up  againe  her  yellow  locks  she  wound, 

And  with  greene  fillets  in  their  prettie  coils  them  bound 

Ouer  the  hedge  depends  the  graping  elme, 
Whose  greenie  head  empurpuled  in  wine, 
Seemed  to  wonder  at  his  bloodie  helme, 

And  halfe  suspect  the  bunches  of  the  vine ; 
Least  they,  perhaps,  his  wit  should  vndermine. 
Under  the  shade  of  these  drunken  elms  arose, 
A  fountain,  near  which  Pangloretta  did  repose, 
The  font  of  silver  was,  and  so  his  showrs  did  in  silver 

speed ; 
But  when  Pangloretta  here  did  list  to  play, 
Rose-water  then  it  ranne,  and  milk  it  rain'd,  they  say, 
The  roofe  thick  clouds  did  paint,  from  which  three  boyes 
Three  gaping  mermaids  with  golden  vases  they  did  feed, 
Flie,  flie,  Thou  Holy  Child,  and  thou,  my  chaste  Muse 
Where  mounts  of  gold,  and  floods  of  silver  run; 
The  while  the  bower's,  with  their  wealth  ondone, 
Starve  in  their  store,  and  in  their  plenty  pine, 
Tumbling  themselves  upon  their  heaps  of  mine, 
Glutting  their  famish't  soules  with  the  deceitful  shine. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  65 

Ah !  who  was  he  such  pretious  perills  found  ? 

How  strongly  Nature  did  her  treasures  hide, 
And  threw  upon  them  mountains  of  thicke  ground, 
To  darke  their  orie  lustre  !  but  queint  Pride 
Hath  taught  her  sonnes  to  wound  their  mother's  side, 
And  gage  the  depth,  to  search  for  flaring  shells, 
In  whose  bright  bosome  spumie  Bachus  swells, 
That  neither  heau'n  nor  earth  henceforth  in  safetie  dwells. 

0  sacred  hunger  of  the  greedie  eye, 

Whose  neede  hath  end,  but  no  end  covetise, 
Emptie  in  fulness,  rich  in  povertie, 

That  hauing  all  things,  nothing  can  suffice, 
How  thou  befanciest  the  men  most  wise  ! 
The  poore  man  would  be  rich,  the  rich  man  great, 
The  great  man  king,  the  king  in  God's  owne  seat 
Enthron  d,  with  mortal  arme  dares  flames  and  thunder  threat. 

Therefore  above  the  rest  Ambition  sat ; 

His  court  with  glitterant  pearle  wras  all  enwall'd, 
And  round  about  the  wall  in  Ch aires  of  State, 

A  hundred  kings  in  splendour,  wear  enstall'd ; 
High  above  Panglorie's  blazing  throne, 
Like  Phcebus'  lampe,  in  midst  of  heauen  shone. 

A  silver  wande  the  sorceresse  did  sway, 

And  for  a  crowne  of  gold,  her  haire  she  wore ; 

Onely  a  garland  of  rosebuds  did  play 

About  her  locks ;  and  in  her  hand  shee  bore 

A  globe  of  glass,  therein  the  world  depictured, 

Whose  colours,  like  the  rainbowe,  euer  vanished. 

Such  wat'ry  soap-bubbles  young  boyes  do  blowe 
Out  of  their  soapy  shells,  and  much  admire 

The  swimming  world,  which  tenderly  they  rowe 
With  easier  breath,  till  it  be  waued  higher : 
But  if  they  chance  but  roughly  once  aspire, 


66  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  painted  bubble  instantly  doth  fall. 

Here  when  shee  came,  shee  'gan  for  musique  call, 

And  sung  this  wooing  song,  to  welcome  Him  withall 

Lone  in  the  blossoms  whear  thear  blowes 

Euery  thing  that  lives  or  growes : 

Loue  no  med'cine  can  appease, 

He  burnes  the  fishes  in  the  seas ; 

Not  all  the  skill  his  wounds  can  stench, 

Not  all  the  sea  his  fire  can  quench : 

Loue  did  make  the  bloody  spear 

Once  a  louer's  coat  to  wear, 

While  in  his  leaues  thear  shrouded  lay 

Sweete  birds,  for  loue  that  sing  and  play : 

And  of  all  loue's  joyfull  flame, 

I  the  bud  and  blossome  am  : 

Only  bend  Thy  knee  to  mee, 

Thy  wooeing  shall  thy  winning  bee. 

See,  see  the  flowers  that  belowe, 
Now  as  fresh  as  morning  bio  we ; 
And  of  all,  the  virgin  rose, 
That  as  bright  Aurora  showes ; 
Like  unto  a  summer-shade, 
But  now  borne,  and  now  fade. 
Euery  thing  doth  passe  away, 
Thear  is  danger  in  delay. 
Come,  come  gather,  then,  the  rose, 
Gather  it,  or  it  you  lose : 
All  the  sand  of  Tagus'  shore 
Into  my  bosome  casts  his  ore : 
All  the  valleys'  swimming  corne 
To  my  house  is  yeerely  borne ; 
Euery  grape  of  euery  vine 
Is  gladly  bruis'd  to  make  me  wine, 
While  ten  thousand  kings,  as  proud, 
To  carry  up  my  train  have  bow'd, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  67 


And  a  world  of  ladies  send  mee 
In  my  chambers  to  attend  mee  : 
All  the  starres  in  heau'n  that  shine, 
And  ten  thousand  more  are  mine, 
Only  bend  thy  knee  to  mee, 
Thy  wooeing  shall  thy  winning  bee. 


BEATRICE. 


DANTE   ALIGHIERI. 


T  HAVE  beheld,  ere  now,  at  break  of  day 

-*-     The  eastern  clime  all  roseate,  and  the  sky 

Opposed,  one  deep  and  beautiful  serene, 

And  the  sun's  face  so  shaded,  and  with  mists 

A-tempered  at  his  rising,  that  the  eye 

Long  while  endured  the  sight.     Thus  in  a  cloud 

Of  flowers,  in  white  veil  and  olive-wreathed, 

A  virgin  in  my  view  appeared,  under 

A  green  mantle,  vested  in  hue  of  living  flame. 

And  o'er  my  spirit  that,  in  former  days, 

Within  her  presence  had  abode  so  long, 

No  shuddering  terror  crept.     Mine  eyes  no  more 

Had  knowledge  of  her,  yet  there  moved  from  her 

A  hidden  virtue,  at  whose  touch  awaked 

The  pow'r  of  ancient  love  grew  strong  within  me. 

Toward  me  she  bent  her  gaze, 
Though  from  her  brow  the  veil  descending  suffered  not 
That  I  beheld  her  clearly  ;  then  with  act  full  royal 
Said,  as  one  who,  speaking,  keepeth  back 
The  bitterest  saying  to  conclude  the  speech : 
I  Look  at  me  well.     I  am,  in  sooth,  I  am 
Beatrice.     What !     Knowest  not,  0  man, 
Thy  happiness  is  here  ?  "     There  her  words  brake  off — 


68  WERNERS  READINGS 

And  suddenly  the  angels  sang  : 

"  In  Thee,  0  gracious  Lord,  hath  been  my  hope." 

Still  she  stood, 
Immovable,  and  thus  addressed  her  words 
To  those  bright  semblances  with  pity  touched : 
"  Ye  keep  your  watch  in  the  eternal  day 
So  that  nor  night  nor  sleep,  with  stealthy  tread, 
Can  steal  from  you  one  step  the  ages  make 
Upon  their  path.     Thence  with  more  heed 
I  shape  mine  answer  for  his  ear  intended 
Who  stands  there  weeping,  that  the  sorrow  now 
May  equal  the  transgression.     This  man 
Was,  in  the  freshness  of  his  being,  gifted  so 
Thai  in  him  all  the  better  habits  thrived. 
These  looks  sometimes  upheld  him  ;  for  I  showed 
My  youthful  eyes,  and  led  him  by  their  light 
In  upright  walking.     Soon  as  I  had  changed 
My  mortal  for  immortal,  then  he  left  me 
And  gave  himself  to  others.     When  from  flesh 
To  spirit  I  had  risen,  I  became  less  dear  to  him, 
And  into  ways  untrue  he  turned  his  steps, 
Following  false  images  of  good  that  make 
No  promise  perfect.     Nor  availed  me  aught 
To  sue  for  inspirations,  with  the  which 
I,  both  in  dreams  of  night  and  otherwise, 
Did  call  him  back.     Of  them  so  little  recked  he, 
Such  depth  he  fell,  that  all  device  was  short 
Of  his  preserving,  save  that  he  should  view 
The  children  of  perdition.     To  this  end 
I  visited  the  purlieus  of  the  dead,  and  there  one 
Received  my  supplications  urged  with  weeping." 

The  beauteous  dame  then  beckoned  me  to  follow. 
Beatrice  upward  gazed,  and  I  on  her,  and  saw  myself 
Arrived  where  wondrous  things  engaged  my  sight. 
Whence  she,  from  whom  no  work  of  mine  was  hid, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 

Turning  to  me  with  aspect  glad  as  fair, 
3espake  me  :   "  Gratefully  direct  thy  mind 
To  God,  through  whom  to  Heaven  we  come." 

Soon  a  sight  appeared 
Which  held  me  fixed ;  and  I  saw  many  a  face 
ill  stretched  to  speak.     Sudden,  as  I  perceived  them, 
'.  turned  mine  eyes  and  nothing  saw. 
Then  turned  them  back,  directed  on  the  light 
)f  my  sweet  guide,  who,  smiling,  shot  forth  beams 
rom  her  celestial  eyes.     "  "Wonder  not  thou,"  she  cried, 
At  my  smiling  when  I  behold  thy  childish  judgment. 
True  substances  are  these  which  thou  beholdest, 
lither  through  failure  of  their  vow  exiled. 
3ut  speak  thou  with  them ;  listen  and  believe 
[hat  the  true  light,  which  fills  them  with  desire, 
5ermits  not  from  its  beams  their  feet  to  stray." 

Straight  to  the  shadow,  wnich  for  converse  seemed 
dost  earnest,  I  addressed  me,  and  began  : 
'  0  spirit,  born  for  joy  !     It  well  would  please 
f  thou  wouldst  tell  me  of  thy  station  here." 
JVheuce  she,  with  kindness  prompt  and  eyes  glist'ning 
Virh  smiles  :  "Our  charity  bars  not  the  door 
o  any  wish  by  justice  introduced ; 
)ur  hearts,  whose  high  affections  burn  alone 
With  pleasure,  from  the  Holy  Spirit  conceived, 
Ldmitted  to  His  order,  dwell  in  joy." 
Then  saw  I  clearly  how  each  spot  iti  Heaven 
s  Paradise,  though  with  like  gracious  dew 
^he  supreme  virtues  shower  not  over  all. 
he  ceased  from  further  tales,  then  vanished. 

turned  on  Beatrice  all  my  gaze, 
fhe  looked  with  eyes  that  shot  forth  sparks 
n  love  celestial  in  such  copious  streams, 
t?hat  virtue  sinking  in  me,  overpowered, 


70  WERNERS  READINGS 

I  turned,  and  downward  bent,  confused  my  sight. 
Not  long  that  mood  did  she  permit,  hut  with  a  smile 
Beaming  upon  me,  thus  her  words  began : 
"  Now  to  fulfil  each  wish  of  thine  remains. 
I  somewhat  further  to  thy  view  unfold 
That  thou  mayst  see  as  clearly  as  myself." 

I  was  not  'ware 
That  I  was  wafted  up,  but  the  new  loveliness 
That  graced  my  lady,  gave  me  ample  proof. 
As  in  a  flame,  other  lights  I  saw,  in  circling  motion, 
That  toward  us  came,  and  such  "  Hosanna!  "  sounded 
As  left  desire  to  hear  renewed  the  strain. 
Then,  parting  from  the  rest,  one  drew  near  and  sole  began  : 
"  We  all  are  ready,  at  thy  pleasure,  to  do  thee  gentle  service. 
"  Tell  me  who  ye  are  ?  "  I  cried.     Forthwith  it  grew  in  size 
And  beauty,  this  augmented  joy;  and  thus  it  answered : 
"  This  little  star  is  furnished  with  good  spirits, 
Whose  mortal  eyes  were  busied  to  that  end, 
That  honor  and  renown  might  wait  on  them. 
Bat  it  is  part  of  our  delight  to  measure 
Our  wages  with  the  merit,  and  admire  the  close  proportion." 

With  Beatrice  I  gloriously  again  was  raised  aloft 
And  made  the  guest  of  Heaven ;  and  thus  she  spake 
To  me  :  "  Thank,  oh,  thank  the  sun  of  angels, 
Him  who,  by  His  grace,  to  this  hath  raised  thee." 

At  these  words, 
Never  was  heart  in  such  devotion  wrapt  as  mine. 
Then  saw  I  a  bright  band  in  loveliness 
Surpassing,  who  themselves  did  form  the  crown, 
And  us  their  centre ;  yet  more  sweet  in  voice 
Than  in  their  visage  beaming.     Then  one  spake  : 
"  Thou  fain  would  hear  what  plants  are  these  that  bloom 
In  the  bright  garland,  which,  admiring,  girds 
This  fair  dame  'round,  who  strengthens  thee  for  Heaven, 


AND  RECITATIOA^S.  71 

The  saintly  soul,  that  shows  the  world's  deceitfulness." 

As  on  we  went  I  gazed  on  Beatrice, 

And- her  fair  countenance  my  gladdened  soul 

Contented ;  subduing  me  with  beam 

Of  her  soft  smile,  she  spake  :  "  Turn  thee  and  list, 

These  eyes  are  not  thine  only  Paradise. 

Behold  the  triumphal  hosts  of  Christ, 

And  all  the  harvest  reaped  at  length  !  " 

Seemed  while  she  spake  her  image  all  did  burn, 

And  in  her  eyes  such  fulness  was  of  joy, 

As  I  am  fain  to  pass  all  unexplained  and  silent. 

Why  doth  my  face,"  said  Beatrice,  "  thus  hold  and  charm, 
That  thou  dost  not  unto  the  beautiful  garden  turn, 
All  blossoming  beneath  the  rays  of  Christ  ?  " 

Promptly  I  heard  her  bidding  and  once  again 

Encountered  the  strife  of  aching  vision.     Saw  I  then 

Legions  of  splendors  on  whom  burning  rays 

Shed  lightning  from  above.     A  song  most  sweet 

Rang  through  the  spheres,  and  "  Holy  !  Holy  !  Holy  !  " 

Accordant  with  the  rest,  my  lady  sang. 

Then,  "  Glory  to  the  Father,  and  the  Son, 

And  to  the  Holy  Spirit,"  rang  throughout  all  Paradise. 

My  spirit  reeled,  so  passing  sweet  the  strain. 

When  lo  !  from  down  the  sky  a  cross  did  fall !  Christ 

Beamed  upon  that  cross ;  but  whoso  takes  his  cross 

And  follows,  Christ  will  pardon,  if  I  leave  untold 

The  glitterance  of  Christ !     'Up  and  down  the  living  light, 

My  eyes  coursed.     When  I  turned  with  purpose 

Of  my  lady  to  inquire  once  more  of  things 

That  held  my  thoughts'  suspense, 

I  answer  found  from  other  than  I  weened ; 

For  Beatrice,  whom  I  thought  to  see,  I  saw  instead 

One  at  my  side,  robed,  as  the  rest,  in  glory. 

And,  "Whither  is  she  vanished  ?  "  straight  I  asked. 

"  By  Beatrice  summoned,"  he  replied,  "  I  come  to  aid  thy  wish. 


72  WERNERS  READINGS 

Behold  her  on  the  Throne,  whereon  her  merit  placed  her." 

Mine  eyes  I  raised  and  saw  her  where  she  sat. 

"0  Lady  !  thon  in  whom  my  hopes  have  rest, 

Who  for  my  safety  hast  not  scorned  in  hell 

To  leave  the  traces  of  thy  footsteps  marked, 

Thy  liberal  bounty  still  toward  me  keep, 

That  when  my  spirit,  which  thoii  madest  whole, 

Is  loosed  from  this  body  it  may  find  favor  still  with  thee." 

So  I  my  suit  preferred,  and  she,  so  distant, 
As  appeared,  looked  down  and  smiled. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  ZAMORA. 


[From  "The  Cid.*'] 


Translated  by  Robert  Sodthey. 


A  ND  there  came  messengers,  vassals,  to  Ruydiez  of  Bivar,  bring 
-**■  ing  him  tribute ;  and  they  called  him  Cid,  which  signified 
Lord,  and  would  have  kissed  his  hands,  but  he  would  not  let  then 
till  they  had  kissed  the  hand  of  the  King. 

The  King  sent  for  the  Cid,  and  said  to  him  :  "  You  well  know  ! 
have  ever  shown  favor  unto  you,  and  you  have  ever  served  me  at 
the  loyalist  vassal  that  ever  did  service  to  his  lord ;  and  I  have,  foij 
your  good  service,  made  you  chief  of  my  household.  Now,  there. 
fore,  go  to  Zamora,  to  my  sister,  Doiia  Urraca,  and  say  unto  her  thai 
I  beseech  her  to  give  me  the  town  either  for  a  price  or  in  exchange 
and  I  will  swear  to  her,  with  twelve  of  my  vassals,  never  to  break 
this  covenant  between  us.  But  if  she  refuseth  to  do  this,  I  will  take 
away  the  town  from  her  by  force." 

And  the  Cid  kissed  the  hand  of  the  King,  and  said  unto  him 
"  This  bidding,  sir,  should  be  for  other  messenger,  for  it  is  a  heavy! 
thing  for  me  to  deliver  it ;  for  I  was  brought  up  in  Zamora  by  youi 
father's  command,  in  the  house  of  Don  Arias  Gkmzalo,  with  Dofia, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  73 

Urraca,  and  with  his  sons,  and  it  is  not  fitting  that  I  should  be  the 
bearer  of  such  bidding." 

And  the  King  persisted  in  requiring  of  him  that  he  should  go, 
insomuch  that  he  was  constrained  to  obey  his  will.  And  he  took 
kith  him  fifteen  of  his  knights  and  rode  toward  Zamora;  and 
when  he  drew  nigh  he  called  unto  those  who  kept  guard  in  the 
cowers  not  to  shoot  their  arrows  at  him,  for  he  came  to  Dona  Urraca 
with  the  bidding  of  her  brother,  King  Don  Sancho.  With  that 
mere  came  down  a  knight  who  was  nephew  to  Arias  G-onzalo,  and 
had  the  keeping  of  the  gate,  and  he  bade  the  Cid  enter,  saying  that 
fie  would  order  him  to  be  well  lodged  while  he  went  to  Dona  Urraca 
^0  know  if  she  would  be  pleased  to  see  him. 

When  the  Cid  entered  the  palace,  Dona  Urraca  advanced  to  meet 
aim,  and  greeted  him  full  well,  and  they  seated  themselves  upon 
,he  estrado.     And  she  said  to  the  Cid : 

"You  well  know  that  you  were  brought  up  with  me  here  in 
Zamora,  and  when  my  father  was  at  the  point  of  death  he  charged 
hat  you  should  always  counsel  his  sons  the  best  you  could.  Now, 
therefore,  tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  what  is  it  my  brother  goes  about 

00  do,  that  he  has  called  up  all  Spain  in  arms,  and  to  what  lands 
fie  thinks  to  go,  whether  against  Moors  or  Christians  ? " 

1  Then  said  the  Cid  :  "  The  King,  your  brother,  sends  to  greet  you, 
ind  beseeches  you  to  give  him  this  town  of  Zamora  either  for  a 

rice  or  in  exchange ;  and  he  will  swear  unto  you,  with  twelve 
aiights,  his  vassals,  never  to  do  you  hurt  or  harm.     But  if  you  will 
lot  give  him  the  town,  he  will  take  it  against  your  will." 
,    When  Dona  Urraca  heard  this,  she  was  sorely  grieved,  and  in  her 
^reat  sorrow  she  lamented  aloud,  saying : 

"Wretch  that  I  am,  many  are  the  evil  messages  which  I  have 
leard  since  my  father's  death !  He  hath  disinherited  my  brother, 
j£ing  Don  Garcia,  of  his  kingdom,  and  taken  him,  and  now  holds 
iim  in  irons  as  if  he  were  a  thief  or  a  Moor :  and  he  hath  taken 
lis  lands  from  my  brother,  King  Don  Alfonso,  and  forced  him  to 
^o  among  the  Moors  and  live  there  exiled,  as  if  he  had  been  a 

Sraitor;  and  he  hath  taken  her  lands  from  my  sister,  Dona  Elvira, 
igainst  her  will,  and  now  he  would  take  Zamora  from  me  also ! 


74  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Now,  then,  let  the  earth  open  and  swallow  me,  that  I  may  not  s< 
so  many  troubles  !  I  am  a  woman,  and  well  know  that  I  cann 
strive  with  him  in  battle ;  but  I  will  have  him  slain  either  secret] 
or  openly." 

Then  Don  Arias  Gonzalo  stood  up  and  said :  "  Lady  Dona  Urrac; 
in  thus  complaining  and  making  lamentation  you  do  inconside 
ately ;  for  in  time  of  trouble  it  befits  us  to  take  thought  of  whi 
best  is  to  be  done,  and  so  must  we  do.  Now,  then,  Lady,  gii 
order  that  all  the  men  of  Zamora  assemble  in  St.  Salvador's  an 
know  of  them  whether  they  will  hold  with  you,  seeing  that  yo 
father  gave  them  to  you  to  be  vassals.  And  if  they  will  hold  wil 
you,  then  give  not  you  up  the  town,  neither  for  a  price  nor  ij 
exchange." 

And  she  did  as  her  foster-father  advised.  And  when  they  wei 
all  assembled,  she  arose  and  said :  "  Friends  and  vassals,  m 
brother,  King  Don  Sancho,  hath  sent  to  bid  me  give  him  Zamorj 
Now  concerning  this  I  would  know  whereunto  ye  advise  me,  an 
if  ye  will  hold  with  me  as  good  vassals  and  true.  If  ye  will  kee 
my  career,  I  think  to  defend  it  by  God's  mercy  and  with  your  help.' 

Then  there  arose  a  knight,  Don  Mino,  a  man  of  worth,  aged  an 
of  fair  speech ;  and  he  said  :  "  God  reward  you,  Lady,  for  this  favc 
which  you  have  shown  us  in  thinking  to  come  to  our  council,  ft' 
we  are  your  vassals,  and  should  do  what  you  command.  Give  nc 
up  Zamora,  for  he  who  besieges  you  upon  the  rock  would  soo 
drive  you  from  the  plain.  The  council  of  Zamora  will  do  your  bid 
ing,  and  will  not  desert  you,  neither  for  trouble  nor  for  danger,  eve: 
unto  death.  Sooner,  Lady,  will  we  expend  all  our  possessions,  an 
eat  our  mules  and  horses,  yea,  sooner  feed  upon  our  children  am 
wives  than  give  up  Zamora,  unless  by  your  command." 

When  Dona  Urraca  heard  this  she  was  well  pleased,  and  praise< 
them  greatly;  and  she  turned  to  the  Cid,  and  said  unto  him 
"  You  were  bred  up  with  me  in  this  town,  and  through  your  hel] 
it  was  the  King,  my  father,  gave  it  unto  me  to  be  my  inheritance 
Entreat  my  brother  that  he  seek  not  to  disinherit  me  ;  but  if  he  wil 
go  on  with  what  he  hath  begun,  say  to  him  that  I  will  rather  die  witl 
the  men  of  Zamora,  and  they  with  me,  than  give  him  up  the  town.' 


AND  RECITATIONS.  75 

When  the  King  heard  what  the  Cid  said,  his  anger  kindled 
ainst  him,  and  he  said :  "  You  have  given  this  counsel  to  my 
ter  because  you  were  bred  up  with  her." 

And  the  Cid  answered:  "Faithfully  have  I  discharged  your 
Iding,  as  a  true  vassal.  Howbeit,  0  King,  I  will  not  bear  arms 
ainst  the  Infanta,   your  sister,  nor   against  Zamora,  because  of 

days  which   are  past ;  and,  I  beseech  you,  do  not  persist  in 
ing  this  wrong." 

But  King  Don  Sancho  was  more  greatly  incensed,  and  said :  "If 
were  not  that  thy  father  left  you  commended  to  me,  I  would 
ler  you  this  instant  hanged.  But  I  command  you  to  quit  my 
igdom  within  nine  days." 

And  the  King  ordered  proclamation  to  be  made  that  the  people 
3uld  make  ready  to  attack  Zamora.     And  they  fought  against 

town  three  days  and  three  nights,  so  bravely  that  all  the 
^ches  were  filled  up,  and  the  barbicans  thrown  down,  and  they 
10  were  within  fought  sword  in  hand  with  those  without,  and  the 
/ters  of  the  Duero,  as  they  passed  below  the  town,  were  all  dis- 
ored  with  blood.  And  when  Count  Don  Garcia  de  Cabra  saw 
3  great  loss  they  were  suffering,  it  grieved  him ;  and  he  went  to 
3  King  and  told  him  that  many  men  were  slain,  and  advised  him 
call  off  the  hosts  that  they  should  no  longer  fight  against  the  town, 
t  hold  it  besieged,  for  by  famine  it  might  soon  be  taken. 
Then  the  King  ordered  them  to  draw  back,  and  he  sent  to  each 
mp  to  know  how  many  men  had  died  in  the  attack,  and  the 
mber  was  found  to  be  a  thousand  and  thirty.  And  the  King 
s  troubled,  and  ordered  the  town  to  be  beleaguered  round  about, 
at  none  could  enter  into  it,  neither  go  out  therefrom ;  and  there 
is  a  great  famine  within  the  town. 

And  when  Don  Arias  Gonzala  saw  the  misery,  and  the  hunger, 
a  the  mortality  which  were  there,  he  said  to  the  Infanta  Dona 
;raca :  "  You  see,  Lady,  the  great  wretchedness  which  the  people 
Zamora  have  suffered  to  maintain  their  loyalty;  now  call 
rether  the  council,  and  thank  them  truly  for  what  they  have  done 
you,  and  bid  them  give  up  the  town  within  nine  days  to  the 
|ng,  your  brother,  for  we  cannot  defend  Zamora." 


76  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  Dona  Urraca  gave  orders  that  the  council  should  meetji 
she  said  unto  them:  "Friends,  ye  will  see  the  resoluteness  o 
King,  Don  Sancho,  my  brother ;  and  already  have  ye  suffered 
evil  and  much  wretchedness  for  doing  right  and  loyally,  1< 
kinsmen  and  friends  in  my  service.  Ye  have  done  enough,  a 
do  not  hold  it  good  that  ye  perish.  I  command  ye,  therefore, 
up  the  town  to  him  within  nine  days,  and  I  will  go  to  Toledo  t- 
brother,  King  Don  Alfonso." 

The  men  of  Zamora  when  they  heard  this  had  great  soi 
because  they  had  endured  the  siege  so  long  and  must  give  ml 
town  at  last;  and  they  determined  to  go  with  the  Infanta,  anc 
remain  in  Zamora. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 


GEOFFREY   CHAUCER. 


Translated  by  John  Detdbn. 


QJtT  ♦£ us' King  of  Athens,  on  returning  with  Hippolita,  his  Queen,  and' 
SSS  n//air  EmiVrom  a  long  journey,  chancing  to  look  aside,  «. 
crowd  of  dames  on  the  roadside.  As  soon  as  they  saw  him  they  raS 
loud  cry  and  beat  their  breasts  and  tore  their  hair.  When  he  asked 
cause  of  their  grief  they  told  him  Thebes,  a  city  in  his  kingdom,  had  1 
taken  by  Creon,  and  their  lords  had  been  slain  in  battle.  The  cruel 
queror  would  not  allow  the  dead  bodies  to  be  buried,  but  left  them  as 
tor  his  hounds  Theseus  promised  them  that  he  would  go  to  Thebes  wit 
delay,  and  punish  Creon  as  he  deserved.] 

A  LL  day  Theseus  marched,  and  all  thf  ensuing  night, 
And  saw  the  city  with  returning  light ; 
And  when  the  victor  chief  had  Creon  slain 
And  conquered  Thebes,  he  pitched  upon  the  plain. 
Now  to  the  ladies  he  restored  again 
The  bodies  of  their  lords  in  battle  slain. 
There,  in  a  heap  of  slain,  among  the  rest, 
Two  youthful  knights  they  found  by  load  oppressed, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  77 

Both  fair,  and  both  of  royal  blood  they  seemed, 

Whom  kinsmen  to  Creon  the  heralds  deemed ; 

Nor  well  alive,  nor  wholly  dead  they  were, 

But  some  faint  signs  of  feeble  life  appear. 

These  two  were  sisters'  sons — Arcite  one. 

And  the  other  valiant  Palamon. 

From  these  their  costly  arms  the  spoilers  rent, 

And  softly  both  conveyed  to  Theseus'  tent. 

Now  in  a  tower  never  to  be  loosed, 

The  woful  captive  kinsmen  were  enclosed. 

Once  young  Emilia  to  the  tower  garden  took  her  way, 

To  offer  maiden  vows  in  honor  of  the  May. 

It  happened  Palamon  thro'  a  window  cast  his  sight, 

Though  thick  with  bars,  that  gave  a  scanty  light ; 

But  that  faint  glimmering  served  him  to  descry 

The  wondrous  and  amazing  charms  of  Emily. 

He  cried  alond.     Young  Arcite  heard, 

And  up  he  ran  to  help  his  friend,  if  need  with  sword. 

He  asked  him  why  he  looked  so  deadly  wan, 

And  whence  and  how  his  change  of  cheer  began. 

|  The  glance  of  some  new  goddess  gave  the  wound, 

Whom,  like  Actason,  unaware  I  found." 

While  yet  he  spoke, 
Arcite  on  Emily  had  fixed  his  look, 
rhen  from  his  inmost  soul  he  sighed,  "  Ah,  me  ! 
How  longs  my  heart  for  her,  so  sweet,  I  see  !  " 
:'  Speak'st  thou  in  earnest  or  in  jesting  vein  ? " 
:'  Jesting,"  said  Arcite,  "  suits  but  ill  with  pain." 
Said  Palamon,  "  We  plighted  faith,  that  neither  prove 
Eis  fellow's  hindrance  in  pursuit  of  love. 
But  my  love  began  ere  thine  was  born  ; 
rhou  art  my  council  and  my  brother  sworn." 

3-reat  was  their  strife,  which  hourly  was  renewed 
fill  each  with  mortal  hate  the  other  viewed. 


78  WERNER'S  READINGS 

At  length  it  chanced  Pirithous  came  to  attend 

The  worthy  Theseus,  his  familiar  friend. 

Theseus  to  gratify  his  friend  and  guest, 

Who  made  our  Arcite's  freedom  his  request, 

Restored  to  liberty  the  captive  knight, 

But  on  these  hard  conditions  I  recite : 

That  if,  hereafter,  Arcite  should  be  found 

Within  the  compass  of  Athenian  ground, 

By  day  or  night,  or  on  whate'er  pretence, 

His  head  should  pay  the  forfeit  of  the  offence. 

"  What  have  I  gained,"  Arcite  mourned  in  loud  lament, 

"  If  I  but  change  my  bonds  for  banishment  ? 

What  matters  it  to  me  if,  from  prison  free, 

I  starve  abroad,  and  lose  sight  of  Emily  ?  " 

When  Palamon  knew  his  rival  freed  and  gone, 

He  swelled  with  wrath  and  made  outrageous  moan : 

"Alas  !"  he  cried,   "  I,  wretch,  in  prison  pine, 

Too  happy  rival,  while  the  fruit  is  thine. 

And  after,  by  some  treaty  made,  thou'lt  possess 

Fair  Emily,  the  pledge  of  lasting  peace  !  " 

When  Arcite  was  to  Thebes  returned  again, 

The  loss  of  her  he  loved  renewed  his  pain ; 

He  raved  in  mad  despair,  his  eyes  in  hollow  sockets  sink, 

Bereft  of  sleep,  he  loathed  his  meat  and  drink. 

By  chance  a  mirror  he  espied  and  there  beheld 

His  altered  look,  at  which  belief  rebelled. 

A  sudden  thought  then  starting  in  his  mind  : 

"  Since  I  in  Arcite  cannot  Arcite  find, 

The  world  may  search  in  vain  with  all  their  eyes, 

But  never  penetrate  through  this  disguise." 

Arrived  at  Athens,  soon  he  came  to  court, 

Unknown,  unquestioned  in  that  thick  resort. 

He  passed  a  year,  Emilia's  chamberlain,  attending  thus 

On  Emily,  and  by  name  being  called  Philostratus. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  79 

To  Theseus'  person  he  was  ever  near, 

And  Theseus  for  his  virtues  held  him  dear. 

Still  hopeless  Palamon  mourns  his  fate,  the  captive  knight, 

For  six  long  years  immured,  at  last  from  prison  took  his  night. 

A  thick-spread  forest,  near  the -city  lay, 

To  this  with  lengthened  strides  he  took  his  way. 

Unconscious  to  the  grove  Arcite  conveyed 

His  steps  where  in  secret  Palamon  was  laid. 

"In  mean  estate,"  moaned  Arcite,  "I  serve  my  foe, 

The  man  who  caused  my  country's  overthrow." 

No  word  missed  Palamon,  and,  starting  from  his  place, 

Discovered  stood,  and  showed  his  hostile  face  : 

"  False  traitor  !   Arcite  !  traitor  to  thy  blood ; 

Bound  by  thy  sacred  oath  to  seek  my  good  ! 

But  be  assured,  either  thou  shalt  die, 

Or  else  renounce  thy  claim  on  Emily." 

"  Now,  by  the  gods  who  govern  Heaven  above, 

Wert  thou  not  weak  with  hunger,  mad  with  love, 

That  word  had  been  thy  last,  or  in  this  grove 

This  hand,  Palamon,  should  force  thee  to  renounce  thy  love. 

Here,  alone,  I  will  come  to-morrow,  with  arms  for  thee  and  me  ; 

Bedding  and  food  I  will  provide,  that  thou  a  worthy  conquest  be." 

His  promise  Palamon  accepts,  but  him  prayed 

To  keep  it  better  than  the  first  he  made. 

Arcite,  ere  the  day,  two  suits  of  armor  sought, 

Which  before  him  on  his  steed  he  brought. 

Thus  pale  they  met ;  their  eyes  with  fury  burn ; 

None  greets,  for  none  the  greeting  will  return. 

Two  long  hours  in  equal  arms  they  stood, 

And  wounded  each  the  other  till  both  were  bathed  in  blood. 

So  fought  the  knights,  and,  fighting,  must  abide, 

Till  fate  an  umpire  sends,  their  difference  to  decide. 

In  Theseus  one  appears,  whose  youthful  joy 

Was  beasts  of  chase  in  forest  to  destroy. 


80  WERNER'S  READINGS 

This  gentle  knight  forsook  his  couch  at  early  day, 
And  to  the  woods  and  wilds  pursued  his  way. 
Beside  him  rode  Hippolita,  the  Queen, 
And  Emily,  attired  in  lively  green, 
With  horns,  and  hounds,  and  all  the  tuneful  cry, 
To  hunt  a  royal  hart  within  the  covert  nigh. 
The  way  that  Theseus  took  was  to  the  wood, 
Where  the  two  knights  in  cruel  battle  stood. 
Approached,  and  looking  underneath  the  sun, 
He  saw  proud  Arcite  and  fierce  Palamon 
In  mortal  battle,  doubling  blow  on  blow ; 
Like  lightning  flamed  their  falchions  to  and  fro. 
He  gazed  with  wonder  on  their  equal  might, 
Looked  eager  on,  but  knew  not  either  knight. 
But  soon  with  sword  unsheathed,  on  pain  of  life, 
Commands  both  combatants  to  cease  their  strife. 
Then  with  imperious  tone  pursues  his  threat : 
"  What  are  you  ?     Why  in  arms  together  met  ? 
How  dares  your  pride  presume  against  my  laws, 
As  in  a  listed  field  to  fight  your  cause  ?  " 

Then  Palamon,  with  scarce  recovered  breath, 

Thus  hasty  spoke  :   "We  both  deserve  the  death, 

And  both  would  die  :  for,  look  the  world  around, 

A  pair  so  wretched  is  not  to  be  found, 

Now,  as  thou  art  a  sovereign  judge,  decree 

The  rightful  doom  of  death  to  him  and  me ; 

Me  first,  oh,  kill  me  first,  and  cure  my  woe ; 

Then  sheathe  the  sword  of  justice  in  my  foe. 

Arcite  of  Thebes  is  he,  Philostratus  called  by  thee, 

A  traitor  trusted,  and  in  high  degree, 

Aspiring  to  fair  Emily.     From  Thebes  my  birth  I  own, 

And  call  myself  the  unhappy  Palamon. 

Know  me  for  what  I  am.     I  broke  my  chain, 

Nor  promised  I  thy  prisoner  to  remain." 


AND  RECITATIONS.  81 

o  whom  replied  the  stern  Athenian  prince  : 

Proud  knight,  since  defiant  thou  ownest  thy  offence, 

ake  your  desert,  the  death  you  have  decreed ; 

seal  your  doom,  and  ratify  the  deed." 

at  when  he  saw  the  Queen's  tears,  heard  her  sighs, 

hen  said  :  "To  the  power  of  love  I  give  these  forfeit  lives. 

•epart  from  hence  in  peace,  and  each  in  a  year  bring 

.  hundred  knights  in  royal  lists  to  fight  before  the  King. 

.nd  the  knight  who  shall  the  victory  gain, 

he  prize  of  valor  and  of  love  shall  sure  obtain." 

al anion  and  Arcite  to  Thebes'  walls  pursued  their  way, 

ach  to  provide  himself  his  champions  for  the  fray. 

he  day  approached  when  fortune  should  decide 

he  important  enterprise  and  give  the  bride. 

7ith  Palamon,  above  the  rest  in  place, 

ycurgus  came,  the  surly  King  of  Thrace. 

o  match  this  monarch  with  strong  Arcite  came 

metrius,  King  of  Ind,  a  mighty  name  ! 

ow,  or  ere  the  dawn  of  day  began  to  spring, 

s  at  a  signal  given,  the  streets  with  clamors  ring. 

wo  troops  in  fair  array  one  moment  showed, 

he  next,  a  field  with  fallen  bodies  strowed. 

t  length  Palamon  was  forced  to  the  ground, 

nyielding  as  he  was,  and  to  the  pillar  bound. 

ow  round  the  royal  lists  the  heralds  cried, 

Arcite  of  Thebes  has  won  the  beauteous  bride." 

he  victor  chief  then  laid  aside  his  helm  and  low  he  bowed, 

nd  bareheaded  paid  the  salutations  of  the  crowd. 

hen  spurring  at  full  speed  ran  headlong  on, 

''here  Theseus  sat  upon  his  imperial  throne. 

1st  then,  from  earth  upsprung  a  flashing  fire 

y  Pluto  sent,  at  Saturn's  fierce  desire. 

he  startled  steed  was  seized  with  sudden  fright, 

nd,  bounding,  o'er  the  pommel  cast  the  knight. 


82  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Help  was  at  hand ;  they  raised  him  from  the  ground, 
And  from  his  cumbrous  armor  his  limbs  unbound  ; 
Then  lanced  a  vein  and  watched  returning  breath ; 
It  came,  but  clogged  with  symptoms  of  stern  death. 
At  length  he  waked,  and  with  a  feeble  cry 
The  word  he  first  pronounced  was — "  Emily !  " 

Arcite  is  doomed  to  die  in  all  his  pride, 

Must  leave  his  youth  and  beauteous  bride. 

When  hope  was  past  he  sent  for  her  and  Palamon, 

And  on  his  pillow  raised,  he  thus  begun  : 

"  No  language  can  express  in  smallest  part, 

The  deep  love  for  you  that  fills  my  heart. 

Ah  !  my  sweet  bride  !  for  you,  for  you  alone, 

I  broke  my  faith  with  Palamon. 

This  earth  holds  not  a  knight  of  nobler  blood ; 

For  valor,  truth,  honor,  all  comprised  in  good. 

So  help  me  Heaven,  in  all  the  world  is  none 

So  worthy  to  be  loved  as  virtuous  Palamon. 

He  loves  you,  too,  with  such  a  holy  fire 

As  will  not,  cannot,  but  with  life  expire. 

If  e'er  you  plight  your  vows  when  I  am  gone, 

Have  pity  on  faithful,  valiant  Palamon." 

Then  speechless  for  a  little  space  the  hero  lay, 

Then  grasped  the  hand  he  held  and  sighed  his  soul  away. 

The  face  of  things  is  changed,  and  Athens  now, 

That  laughed  so  late,  becomes  a  scene  of  woe. 

The  year  was  fully  mourned  when,  by  general  consent, 

At  Athens  Theseus  held  his  parliament. 

The  monarch  mounts  his  throne  on  high, 

Commands  into  the  court  the  beauteous  Emily : 

Thus  he  spake  :  "  Since  Arcite  is  with  honor  dead, 

Why  should  we  mourn  that  he  so  soon  is  freed  ? 

What  then  remains  but,  after  past  annoy, 

To  take  the  good  vicissitude  of  joy  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  83 

Now  I  propose  that  Palamon  shall  be 

In  marriage  joined  with  the  fair  Emily. 

Long  love  to  her  has  borne  the  faithful  knight, 

And  well  deserved,  had  fortune  done  him  right ; 

'Tis  time  to  mend  her  fault,  since  Emily 

By  Arcite's  death  from  former  vows  is  free. 

'Tis  no  dishonor  for  you,  our  sister,  to  confer  your  grace 

On  one  descended  from  a  royal  race." 

And  turning  to  the  Theban,  thus  he  said : 

"  Small  arguments  are  needful  to  persuade 

Your  temper  to  comply  with  my  command ;  " 

And  speaking  thus,  he  gave  Emilia's  hand. 

Thus  Heaven  beyond  the  compass  of  his  thought, 

Sent  Palamon  the  blessing  he  so  dearly  bought. 


SOPHRONIA  AND  OLINDO. 


[From  "  Jerusalem  Delivered."] 


TORQUATO    TASSO. 


T  SMENO  before  the  King  presents  himself,  alone  ■ 
•     Ismeno,  who  can  startle  Pluto  on  his  throne ; 
Who  sends  his  demons  forth  on  errands  ill 
As  slaves,  and  binds  and  looses  them  at  will. 

Once  Christian,  to  Mohammed  now  he  prays; 
And  from  the  cave  in  which  he  spends  his  days 
Comes  to  his  lord,  thus  menaced  by  the  war  — 
To  impious  King  more  impious  counsellor. 

He  said:  "The  dreaded  army  comes,  0  sire, 
Thy  zeal  as  king  and  leader  I  admire ; 
If  thus  all  else  fulfil  the  tasks  they  owe, 
This  land  will  soon  entomb  thy  every  foe. 


84  WERNERS  READINGS 

"  I,  for  my  part,  am  come  as  thy  ally; 

I  promise  all  old  age's  wisdom  can  supply  ; 

In  danger  and  in  toil  companion  true, 

The  angels  I  will  constrain  to  share  thy  labor,  too. 

"Within  the  Christian's  temple  before  a  certain  shrine, 
Always  a  lighted  torch  is  made  to  shine 
Upon  the  image,  while  near,  in  lengthened  ranks,  one  sees 
The  rows,  brought  by  believing  devotees. 

"  This  almost  breathing  form,  snatched  thence  by  force, 

I  wish  to  place  within  thy  mosque,  there  to  stay  thro'  time's  course ; 

For  while  it  remaineth  safe  in  thine  own  land, 

This  empire,  too,  secure  from  harm  shall  stand.' 

So  spake  he.     The  King,  impatient,  hurries  to  the  house  of  God, 
To  bear  the  chaste  image  to  that  temple  where  the  avenging  rod 
Oft  falls  on  the  adorers  who  vain  rites  bring 
As  penance  due  their  false  god,  worshipping. 

But  when  the  new-born  dawn  appears  in  Heaven, 

He  unto  whose  care  the  sacred  shrine  was  given 

Saw  not  the  image,  and  seeking  found  no  trace. 

To  the  King  he  sped,  who  sternly  bade,  "  Search  every  place  1  " 

And  declared  that  whosoever  took  the  statue, 
Should  be  denounced  by  Heaven — his  righteous  due. 
Anon,  the  King's  servant  sought  each  fane, 
But  found  not  the  precious  thing  •  search  was  in  vain. 

The  King,  finding  the  author  of  the  crime  he  cannot  learn, 
With  hate  and  quick  revenge  his  heart  begins  to  burn. 
"  My  rage,"  he  said,  "shall  not  be  in  vain  ;  'mid  all 
This  slaughtered  sect  the  unknown  one  shall  fall. 

"So  that  the  guilty  'scape  not,  I  command  that  e'en  the  just 
With  the  guilty  perish.     Not  e'en  one  man  may  we  trust. 
Up  !  up  !  my  faithful  ones,  to  do  my  will ! 
Away  !  take  flame  and  iron !     Burn  and  kill !  " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  85 

hus  spake  he  to  the  crowd.     None  offered  plea  or  prayer, 
.11  were  plunged  deep  in  dire  despair; 
ut  none  essayed  excuse,  till,  wav'ring  and  dismayed, 
t  last  they  found  the  needed  aid. 

.mong  them  was  a  maid  of  lofty  beauty,  regal  mind, 
nd  a  youth,  an  Argus  now,  anon  as  Cupid  blind — 
jphronia,  she,  Olindo,  he,  by  name ; 
ne  city  and  one  faith  they,  as  birthright,  claim. 

l  the  meantime,  news  of  disaster  dire  was  brought ; 
nd  she,  who  was  generous  as  pure  and  kind,  sought 
ow  she  might  save  them  in  the  direful  case 
hat  with  fell  destruction  threatened  all  their  race. 

hrough  crowds  she  takes  her  way  with  gentle  sigh, 

^serving  none  till  she  saw  the  King  draw  nigh  ; 

lien  spake :  "  0  sire,  I  come  to  yield  the  culprit,  sought  in  vain, 

rhom  so  offending  thee  may  not  thy  mercy  gain." 

tie  King  reined  in  his  ire  and  meekly  bowed 

)  charms  thus  holy,  then  he  spake  aloud  : 

Tell  me,  then,  all !  "  he  cried.     "  My  faith  I  plight 

ly  people  shall  be  safe."     "  The  culprit,  sire,  is  in  thy  sight," 

ft  she  replied.    "  'Twas  this  hand  of  mine 
le  image  from  the  temple  took.     Thine 
the  power  to  punish,  0  King !     I  am  she 
horn  thou  seekest ;  vent  thy  wrath  on  me." 

le  tyrant  stern  demanded  :   "  Tell  me,  and  take  heed, 
ho  gave  thee  counsel  and  who  shared  the  deed  ?  " 
3  sire,  only  in  myself  did  I  confide  ; 
was  sole  contriver — there  was  none  beside." 

Where  hast  thou  the  image  hidden  ?  "  he  demands. 
I  hid  it  not,  but  gave  it  to  the  burning  brands. 
*e,  if  the  culprit  thou  desirest,  look  on  me, 
r  the  treasure  stolen  thou  wilt  never  see." 


86  WERNERS  READINGS 

The  tyrant  muttered  a  cry  that  might  Heaven  appal : 
"  On  thee  alone,  then,  my  avenging  wrath  shall  fall." 
Stung  to  fury  he  dooms  the  maid  to  death  by  fire ; 
They  tear  her  veil  and  vestment  off,  her  womanly  attire ; 

Twist  cords  around  those  arms  so  delicate  and  fair. 
Still  she  spake  not ;  her  soul  bowed  not  to  despair, 
E'en  though  her  countenance  faded  to  death's  hue, 
Yet  dazzling  in  its  beauty,  fair  to  view. 

Hither  had  the  people  drawn,  Olindo  with  the  throng. 
When  he  beheld  his  lady  bound,  yet  guilty  of  no  wrong, 
He  hurls  the  crowd  aside  —  "Not  she,  not  she,  0  King, 
Is  guilty,  'twas  I  who  did  the  wicked  thing  ! 

"  Sire,  by  me  was  removed  the  image  in  the  shrine  ; 
I  climbed  to  the  place  where  the  mosque  did  shine. 
The  deed  and  punishment  both  are  my  right ; 
I  did  the  wrong  in  shade  of  darkest  night. 

"  Those  chains  are  mine  — for  me  is  lit  the  fire; 
Forgive  the  maiden,  she  is  blameless,  sire  !  " 
Sophronia  turned  toward  him,  her  eyes  shining  clear, 
Yet  filled  with  soft  compassion's  tear : 

"  Why  comest  thou  ?     What  is  it  brings  thee  here  ? 
Can  I  not  the  King's  wrath  bear,  howe'er  severe  ? " 
Thus  spake  she  to  her  lover ;  but  the  King's  rage, 
By  neither  word  nor  sign  could  they  assuage. 

And  he  chafes  the  more  that  she  and  he 
Themselves  inculpate  with  such  urgency. 
"  Believe  them  both,"  he  cries  ;  "let  both  succeed !  " 
He  nods  to  his  vassals,  who  advance  with  speed 

To  bind  the  young  man  with  their  chains, 

For  the  King's  wrath  two  victims  claims. 

Both  are  fastened  to  the  stake,  back  turned  to  back, 

Face  from  face  away ;  o'erhead  the  sky  is  low'ring  black. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  87 

jnd  now  the  funeral-pyre  is  laid,  the  flames  arise, 
rhile  groans  burst  from  Olindo,  and  deep  he  sighs : 
(Alas  !   are  these,  then,  the  ties  that  unite  us  ? 
'0  the  gods  we  worship  thus  plight  us  ?  " 

bus  spake  he  wailing.     Sweetly  she  replied, 
„nd  in  these  words  mildly  began  to  chide  : 
Far  other  thoughts  and  other  griefs,  my  friend, 
hould  now  employ  us  as  we  near  life's  end. 

Be  patient,  Olindo ;  we  suffer  in  G-od's  name, 
i^ho  to  save  the  faithful  from  Heaven  came, 
jehold  how  fair  is  Heaven  !     And,  dear  one,  there, 
?  true,  we  may  live,  and  in  its  beauty  share." 

i.  cry  of  anguish  from  the  Pagans  loudly  pealed, 
he  faithful,  too,  wailed  pity,  ne'er  before  revealed ; 
.'en  from  the  King's  hard  breast  a  moan 
scaped,  yet  he  disdained  his  grief  to  own. 

udden  appears,  in  stately  guise,  a  warrior, 

o  she  seems,  of  semblance  high,  in  strange  attire. 

'he  tiger-crest  which  on  her  helmet  gleams, 

♦raws  toward  it  every  eye ;  Clorinda's  device  it  seems. 

or  she  had  from  childhood  felt  but  idle  chains, 
fhe  small  adornments  of  her  sex.     From  Persia's  plains 
Cither  she  has  come  to  oppose  the  Christian  host 
|7ith  might  and  at  whatever  cost. 

lager  to  see  and  learn,  soon  she  found 

ophronia  and  Olindo,  'mid  the  throng,  with  fagots  bound. 

'he  crowds  give  way,  she  urges  on  her  steed, 

n  learn  why  such  sacrifice  hath  been  decreed. 

lorinda's  heart  was  melted  in  pity  for  the  twain 
Without  delay  she  questioned  of  a  wondering  swain : 
I  prithee,  who  are  these  ?    Tell  me,  my  friend, 
Vhat  fate  or  fault  brings  them  to  this  sad  end  ? " 


88  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Stunned  by  the  tale,  swift  did  she  decide 
To  o'erthrow  their  doom,  let  what  will  betide. 
She  hails  the  guard  :  "  Are  there  none  who  dare 
Declare  against  this  cruel  task  ?  "     With  defiant  air 

She  sought  the  King  :  "lam  Clorinda  !     Dost  know 
My  name,  0  King  ?  "    Thus  did  her  accents  flow ; 
"  I  came  to  join  thee  and  defend  thy  throne 
Against  a  common  foe ;  for  this  alone 

I  came  ;  to  lift  the  standard  of  our  faith,  nor  yield 
The  land  to  any,  e'en  on  battle-field. 
Ready  am  I  to  lift  thy  standard  on  'leaguered  walls ; 
Nor  thought  of  death  or  harm  my  heart  appals." 

She  ceased.     The  King  replied :    "  Clorinda,  hail ! 

Aided  by  thy  sword,  the  might  of  allied  foes  cannot  prevail. 

Valiant  thou  art  in  glittering  armor  bright; 

As  though  of  old  some  far-renowned  knight." 

Then  spake  the  warrior  maiden  in  reply, 

With  courteous  thanks  for  praise  so  high  : 

"  0  King,  service  I  would  to  thee  give.     It  may  cost  thee  dear 

Yet  'tis  all  I  ask — bestow  on  me  the  culprits  there. 

"  The  Christian  took  the  image,  and  I  plainly  see 
The  act  was  sacrilegious  to  our  holy  law ;  but  verily 
We  know  'tis  not  meet  our  temples  should  possess 
Idols  at  all,  and,  0  King,  it  should  be  others'  idols  less. 

"Up  to  Mohammed  this  miracle  I  joy  to  trace, 

For  'tis  not  lawful  e'en  you  his  temple  should  debase, 

Or  its  shrines  offend  with  religion  that  is  new  ; 

To  show  you  this  I  am  here.     0  King,  believe  it  true. 

"  Let,  then,  Ismeno  attempt  all  that  spells  can  do, 
Only  'tis  not  meet  we  should  such  course  pursue ; 
By  the  sword  alone  we  warriors  should  be  known ; 
This  is  our  faith,  our  hope  be  this  alone  !  " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  89 

Here  ceased  she,  and  the  King  replied : 
"  To  such  a  pleader  naught  can  be  denied, 
Justice  or  pardon,  let  it  be ;  this  pair, 
Guiltless,  absolve  I,  and,  if  guilty,  spare." 

Thus  were  they  freed  from  death.    Olindo's  fortune  proved 
Most  truly  blest ;  from  their  funeral-pyre  they  moved, 
Guided  by  Love  and  fair  Hymen's  torch  alight ; 
And  soon  their  nuptials  did  the  gods  delight. 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  SONG. 


TORQUATO    TASSO. 


S 


AFE  stands  our  simple  shed,  despised  our  little  store ; 
Despised  by  others,  but  so  dear  to  me, 

That  gems  and  crowns  I  hold  in  less  esteem ; 
From  pride,  from  avarice,  is  my  spirit  free, 

And  mad  ambition's  visionary  dream. 

My  thirst  I  quench  in  the  pellucid  stream, 
Nor  fear  lest  poison  the  pure  wave  pollutes ; 

With  flocks  my  fields,  my  fields  with  herbage  teem ; 
My  garden-plot  supplies  nutritious  roots ; 
And  my  brown  orchard  bends  with  autumn's  wealthiest  fruits.. 

Few  are  our  wishes,  few  our  wants ;  man  needs 

But  little  to  preserve  the  vital  spark. 
These  are  my  sons  ;  they  keep  the  flock  that  feeds, 

And  rise  in  the  gray  morning  with  the  lark. 

Thus  in  my  hermitage  I  live ;  now  mark 
The  goats  disport  amid  the  budding  brooms  ; 

Now  the  slim  stags  bound  through  the  forest  dark  : 
The  fish  glide  by,  the  bees  hum  round  the  blooms, 
And  the  birds  spread  to  Heaven  the  splendor  of  their  plumes. 


90  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Time  was  (these  gray  hairs  then  were  golden  locks) 

When  other  wishes  wantoned  in  my  veins ; 
I  scorned  the  simple  charge  of  tending  flocks, 

And  fled  disgusted  from  my  native  plains. 

Awhile  in  Memphis  I  abode,  where  reigns 
The  mighty  Caliph ;  he  admired  my  port, 

And  made  me  keeper  of  his  flower-domains ; 
And  though  to  town  I  rarely  made  resort, 
Much  have  I  seen  and  known  of  the  intrigues  of  court. 

Long  by  presumptuous  hopes  was  I  beguiled, 
And  many,  many  a  disappointment  bore ; 

But  when  with  youth  false  hope  no  longer  smiled, 
And  the  scene  palled  that  charmed  so  much  before, 
I  sighed  for  my  lost  peace,  and  brooded  o'er 

The  abandoned  quiet  of  this  humble  shed; 

Then  farewell  State's  proud  palaces  !     Once  more 

To  these  delightful  solitudes  I  fled ; 

And  in  their  peaceful  shades  harmonious  days  have  led. 


UNA  AND  THE  RED  CROSS  KNIGHT. 


EDMUND    SPENSER. 


A  G-ENTLE  knight  was  pricking  on  the  plaine, 
■^^  Ycladd  in  mightie  armes  and  silver  shielde, 
Wherein  old  dints  of  deepe  woundes  did  remaine, 

The  cruell  markes  of  many  a  bloody  fielde ; 

Yet  armes  till  that  time  did  he  never  wield. 
His  angry  steede  did  chide  his  foming  bitt, 

As  much  disci ayning  to  the  curbe  to  yield. 
Full  jolly  knight  he  seemd,  and  faire  did  sitt 
As  one  for  knightly  giusts  and  fierce  encounters  fitt. 

And  on  his  brest  a  bloodie  crosse  he  bore —        » 
The  deare  remembrance  of  his  dying  Lord, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  91 

For  whose  sweete  sake  that  glorious  badge  he  wore 

And  dead,  as  living,  ever  Him  ador'd. 

Upon  his  shielde  the  like  was  also  scor'd 
For  soveraine  hope,  which  in  His  helpe  he  had. 

Right  faithfull  true  he  was,  in  deede  and  worde  ; 
But  of  his  cheere  did  seeme  too  solemne  sad ; 
Yet  nothing  did  he  dread,  hut  ever  was  ydrad. 

Upon  a  great  adventure  he  was  bond, 

That  greatest  Gloriana  to  him  gave — 
That  greatest,  glorious  Queene  of  faery  lond — 

To  winne  him  worshippe  and  her  grace  to  have, 

Which  of  all  earthly  thinges  he  most  did  crave. 
And  ever  as  he  rode  his  hart  did  yearne 

To  prove  his  puissance  in  battell  brave 
Upon  his  foe,  and  his  new  force  to  learne 
Upon  his  foe,  a  dragon  horrible  and  stearne. 

A  lovely  ladie  rode  him  faire  beside, 

Upon  a  lowly  asse  more  white  then  snow ; 
Yet  she  much  whiter,  but  the  same  did  hide 

Under  a  vele,  that  wimpled  was  full  low; 

And  over  all  a  blacke  stole  she  did  throw, 
As  one  that  inly  mournd — so  was  she  sad, 

And  heavie  sate  upon  her  palfrey  slow  ; 
Seemd  in  heart  some  hidden  care  she  had, 
And  by  her,  in  a  line,  a  milke-white  lambe  she  led. 

So  pure  and  innocent,  as  that  same  lambe, 

She  was  in  life  and  everie  vertuous  lore ; 
And  by  descent  from  royall  lynage  came 

Of  ancient  kinges  and  queenes,  that  had  of  yore 

Their  scepters  stretcht  from  east  to  western  shore, 
And  all  the  worlde  in  their  subjection  held; 

Till  that  infernall  feend  with  foule  uprore 
Forwasted  all  their  land  and  them  expelld ; 
Whom  to  avenge,  she  had  this  knight  from  far  compeld. 


92  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Behind  her,  farre  away,  a  dwarfe  did  lag, 

That  lazie  seemd  in  being-  ever  last, 
Or  wearied  with  the  bearing  of  her  bag 

Of  needments  at  his  backe.     Thus,  as  they  past, 

The  day  with  cloudes  was  suddeine  overcast, 
And  angry  Jove  an  hideous  storme  of  raine 

Did  poure  into  his  Leman's  lap  so  fast, 
That  everie  wight  to  shrowd  it  did  constrain ; 
And  this  faire  couple  eke  to  shrowd  themselves  were  fain. 

Enforst  to  seeke  some  covert  nigh  at  hand 
A  shadie  grove  not  farr  away  they  spide, 

That  promist  ayde  the  tempest  to  withstand ; 
Whose  loftie  trees,  yclad  with  sommer's  pride, 
Did  spred  so  broad,  that  heaven's  light  did  hide, 

Nor  perceable  with  power  of  any  starr. 

And  all  within  were  pathes  and  alleies  wide, 

With  footing  worne  and  leading  inward  farr, — 

Faire  harbour  that  them  seems  ;  so  in  they  entred  ar. 

And  foorth  they  passe  with  pleasure  forward  led, 

Joying  to  heare  the  birdes'  sweete  harmony, 
Which,  therein  shrowded  from  the  tempest  dred, 

Seemd  in  their  song  to  scorne  the  cruell  sky. 

Much  can  they  praise,  the  trees  so  straight  and  hy, 
The  sayling  pine,  the  cedar  proud  and  tall, 

The  vine-propp  elme,  the  poplar  never  dry, 
The  builder  oake,  sole  king  of  forrests  all, 
The  aspine  good  for  staves,  the  cypresse  funeralL 

The  laurell  meed  of  mightie  conquerours 

And  poets  sage ;  the  firre  that  weepeth  still ; 
The  willow  worne  of  forlorne  paramours ; 

The  eugh  obedient  to  the  bender's  will ; 

The  birch  for  shaftes ;  the  sallow  for  the  mill ; 
The  mirrhe  sweete  bleeding  in  the  bitter  wound. 

The  warlike  beech,  the  ash  for  nothing  ill, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  93 

.Tie  fruitfull  olive,  and  the  plantane  round, 

?he  carver  holme ;  the  maple  seldom  inward  sound. 

jed  with  delight,  they  thus  beguile  the  way, 

Untill  the  blust'ring  storme  is  overblowne, 
Then,  weening  to  returne  whence  they  did  stray, 

They  cannot  finde  that  path  which  first  was  showne, 

But  wander  too  and  fro  in  waies  unknowne, 
'urthest  from  end  then,  when  they  neerest  weene, 

That  makes  them  doubt  their  wits  be  not  their  owne : 
o  many  pathes,  so  many  turnings  seene, 
hat  which  of  them  to  take  in  diverse  doubt  they  been. 

t  last,  resolving  forward  still  to  fare, 

Till  that  some  end  they  finde,  or  in  or  out, 
hat  path  they  take,  that  beaten  seemd  most  bare, 

And  like  to  lead  the  labyrinth  about ; 

Which,  when  by  tract  they  hunted  had  throughout, 
t  length  it  brought  them  to  a  hollowe  cave 

Amid  the  thickest  woods.     The  champion  stout 
ftsoones  dismounted  from  his  courser  brave, 
hd  to  the  dwarfe  a  while  his  needlesse  spere  he  gave. 

Be  well  aware,"  quoth  then  that  ladie  milde, 
I  Least  suddaine  mischiefe  ye  too  rash  provoke : 
be  danger  hid,  the  place  unknowne  and  wilde 
Breedes  dreadfull  doubts.     Oft  fire  is  without  smoke, 
And  perill  without  show ;  therefore,  your  stroke, 
r  Knight,  with-hold,  till  further  try  all  made." 
"Ah,  Ladie,"  sayd  he,  "  shame  were  to  revoke 
le  forward  footing  for  an  hidden  shade  : 
irtue  gives  her  selfe  light  through  darknesse  for  to  wade." 

Yea,  but,"  quoth  she,  "  the  perill  of  this  place 
II  better  wot  then  you.     Though  nowe  too  late 
j  wish  you  backe  returne  with  foule  disgrace, 
|Yet  wisedome  warnes,  whilest  foot  is  in  the  gate, 
To  stay  the  steppe,  ere  forced  to  retrate. 


94  WERNERS  READINGS 

This  is  the  Wand'riug  Wood,  this  Errour's  Den, 

A  monster  vile,  whom  God  and  man  does  hate ; 
Therefore  I  read,  beware  !  "     "  Fly,  fly,"  quoth  then 
The  fearefull  dwarfe ;  "  this  is  no  place  for  living  men." 

Then  mounted  Sir  Knight  upon  his  steede  againe, 

And  with  the  ladie  backward  sought  to  wend  ; 
That  path  he  kept,  which  beaten  was  most  plaine, 

Nor  ever  would  to  any  by-way  bend  ; 

But  still  did  follow  one  unto  the  end, 
The  which  at  last  out  of  the  wood  them  brought. 

So  forward  on  his  way  (with  God  to  frend) 
He  passed  forth,  and  new  adventure  sought. 
Long  way  he  travelled  before  he  heard  of  ought. 


THE  OAK  AND  THE  BRIERE 


EDMUND    SPENSER. 


'T^HERE  grew  an  aged  tree  on  the  green, 

*~       A  goodly  Oak  sometime  had  it  been, 
With  arms  full  strong  and  largely  displayed, 
But  of  their  leaves  they  were  disarrayed. 
The  body  big  and  mightily  pight, 
Thoroughly  rooted,  and  of  wondrous  height; 
Whilom  had  been  the  king  of  the  field, 
And  mochel  mast  to  the  husband  did  yield 
And  with  his  nuts  larded  many  swine. 
But  now  the  gray  moss  marred  his  rine, 
His  bared  boughs  were  beaten  with  the  storms, 
His  top  was  bald  and  wasted  with  worms, 
His  honour  decayed,  his  branches  sere. 

Hard  by  his  side  grew  a  bragging  Briere, 
That  in  his  small  bushes  used  to  shroud 
The  sweet  nightingale  singing  so  loud, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  95 

Which  made  this  foolish  Briere  wex  so  bold, 

That  on  a  time  he  cast  him  to  scold, 

And  sneb  the  good  Oak,  for  he  was  old. 

«  Why  standest  there,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  brutish  block  ? 

Nor  for  fruit,  nor  for  shadow  serves  thy  stock ; 

Seest  how  fresh  my  flowers  have  been  spread, 

Dyed  in  lily  white  and  crimson  red, 

With  leaves  engrained  in  lusty  green, 

Colours  meet  to  cloake  a  maiden  queen  ? 
Thy  waste  bigness  but  cumbers  the  ground, 
And  diiks  the  beauty  of  my  blossoms  round. 
The  mouldy  moss  which  thee  accloyeth, 
My  cinnamon  smell  too  much  annoyeth. 
Wherefore  soon  I  rede  thee  hence  remove, 
Lest  thou  the  price  of  my  displeasure  prove." 
So  spake  this  bold  Briere  with  great  disdain, 
Little  him  answered  the  Oak  again, 
But  yielded,  with  shame  and  grief  adawed, 
That  of  a  weed  he  was  over-crawed. 

It  chanced  after  upon  a  day, 

The  husbandman's  self  to  come  that  way, 

Of  custom  to  surview  his  ground, 

And  his  trees  of  state  in  compass  round. 

Him  when  the  spiteful  Briere  had  espy'd, 

Causeless  complained,  and  loudly  cryed 

Unto  his  lord  stirring  up  stern  strife  : 

"  0  my  liege  lord !  the  god  of  my  life, 
Please  you  ponder  your  suppliant's  plaint, 
Caused  of  wrong  and  cruel  constraint. 
Ah,  my  sovereign !  lord  of  creatures  all, 
Thou  placer  of  plants  both  humble  and  tall, 
Was  not  I  planted  of  thine  own  hand, 
To  be  the  primrose  of  all  thy  land, 
With  flow'ring  blossoms  to  furnish  the  prime, 
And  scarlet  berries  in  summer-time  ? 


96  WERNER'S  READINGS 

How  falls  it,  then,  that  this  faded  Oak, 

Whose  body  is  sere,  whose  branches  are  broke, 

Whose  naked  arms  stretch  unto  the  fire, 

Unto  such  tyranny  doth  aspire, 

Hind'ring  with  his  shade  my  lovely  light, 

And  robbing  me  of  the  sweet  sun's  sight  ? 

So  beat  his  old  boughs  my  tender  side, 

That  oft  the  blood  springeth  from  wounds  wide  J 

Untimely  my  flowers  forced  to  fall, 

That  been  the  honour  of  your  coronal ; 

And  oft  he  lets  his  canker-worms  light 

Upon  my  branches,  to  work  me  more  pight ; 

And  of  his  hoary  locks  down  doth  cast, 

Wherewith  my  fresh  flow'rets  been  defast. 

For  this  and  many  more  such  outrage, 

Craving  your  godly  head  to  assuage 

The  rancorous  rigor  of  his  might ; 

Naught  ask  I  but  only  to  hold  my  right, 

Submitting  me  to  your  good  sufferance, 

And  praying  to  be  guarded  from  grievance." 

To  this  the  Oak  cast  him  reply 

As  well  as  he  could.     But  his  enemy 

Had  kindled  such  coals  of  displeasure, 

That  the  good  man  would  not  stay  his  leisure, 

But  home  him  hasted  with  furious  heat, 

Encreasing  his  wrath  with  many  a  threat ; 

His  harmful  hatchet  he  held  in  hand — 

Alas  !  that  it  so  ready  should  stand  ! 

Aye,  little  help  to  harm  there  needeth, 

And  to  the  field  alone  he  speedeth. 

Anger  nould  let  him  speak  to  the  tree, 

Enaunter  his  rage  might  cooled  be ; 

But  to  the  root  he  bent  his  sturdy  stroke, 

And  made  many  wounds  in  the  waste  Oak, 

For  naught  might  they  quitten  him  from  decay, 

For  fiercely  the  good  man  at  him  did  lay. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  97 

In  fine,  the  steel  did  pierce  his  pith, 

Then  down  to  the  ground  he  fell  forthwith. 

His  wondrous  weight  made  the  ground  to  quake, 

The  earth  shrunk  under  him,  and  seemed  to  shake ; 

There  lieth  the  Oak  pitied  of  none. 

Now  stands  the  Briere  like  a  lord  alone, 

Puffed  up  with  pride  and  vain  pleasance. 

But  all  this  glee  had  no  continuance  ; 

For  eftsoons  winter  'gan  to  approach, 

The  blust'ring  Boreas  did  encroach, 

And  beat  upon  the  solitary  Briere, 

For  now  no  succor  was  seen  him  near. 

Now  'gan  he  repent  his  pride  too  late, 

For  naked  left  and  disconsolate, 

The  biting  frost  nipt  his  stalk  dead, 

The  watry  wet  weighed  down  his  head, 

And  heaped  snow  burdened  him  so  sore, 

That  now  upright  he  could  stand  no  more ; 

And  being  down  is  trod  in  the  dirt, 

And  brouzed,  and  beaten,  and  sorely  hurt. 

Such  was  the  end  of  this  ambitious  Briere, 

In  scorning  eld. 


EDWARD  II. 


CHRISTOPHER    MARLOWE. 


[Young   Mortimer  and   a  number  of  lords  present.     Enter  Queen 

Isabella.] 

"IV  /T  ORTIMER.     Madam,  whither  walks  your  majesty  so  fast  ? 

Queen.     Unto  the  forest,  gentle  Mortimer, 

To  live  in  grief  and  baleful  discontent ; 
For  now,  my  lord,  the  King  regards  me  not, 
But  doats  upon  the  love  of  G-aveston. 
He  claps  his  cheek,  and  hangs  about  his  neck, 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Smiles  in  his  face,  and  whispers  in  his  ears. 
And  when  I  come  he  frowns,  as  who  should  say : 
"Go  whither  thou  wilt,  seeing  I  have  Gaveston." 

Mor.     Is  it  not  strange  that  he  is  thus  bewitched  ? 
Madam,  return  unto  the  court  again : 
That  sly,  inveigling  Frenchman  we'll  exile, 
Or  lose  our  lives ;  and  yet  ere  that  day  come, 
The  King  shall  lose  his  crown ;  for  we  have  power 
And  courage,  too,  to  be  revenged  at  full. 

Queen.     But  lift  not  your  swords  against  the  King. 

Mor.     No,  but  we  will  lift  G-aveston  from  hence. 

And  war  must  be  the  means,  or  he'll  stay  still. 

Queen.     Then  let  him  stay ;  for  rather  than  my  lord 
Shall  be  oppressed  with  civil  mutinies, 
I  will  endure  a  melancholy  life, 
And  let  him  frolic  with  his  flatterers. 

Mor.     My  lords,  to  ease  all  this,  but  hear  me  speak : 
"We  and  the  rest,  that  are  his  counsellors, 
Will  meet,  and  with  a  general  consent 
Confirm  his  banishment  with  our  hands  and  seals. 
And  if  what  we  confirm  the  King  will  frustrate, 
Then  may  we  lawfully  revolt  from  him. 
Come,  then,  let's  away.     Madam,  farewell ! 

Queen.     Farewell,  sweet  Mortimer,  and,  for  my  sake, 
Forbear  to  levy  arms  against  the  King, 

Mor.     Aye,  if  words  will  serve  ;  if  not,  I  must. 

[Exeunt.] 
[Enter  King  Edward.] 
Queen.     Whither  goes  my  lord  ? 

Edward.     Fawn  not  on  me  !     Go,  get  thee  gone. 

Queen.     On  whom  but  on  my  husband  should  I  fawn  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  99 

Edw.     On  Mortimer  !  with  whom,  ungentle  Queen, 
Thou'rt  too  familiar,  I  say  no  more. 
By  thy  means  is  Gaveston  exiled ; 
But  I  would  wish  thee  reconcile  the  lords, 
Or  thou  shalt  ne'er  be  reconciled  to  me. 

Queen.     Your  highness  knows  it  lies  not  in  my  pow'r. 

Edw.     Away,  then  !  touch  me  not. 

Queen.     Wherein,  my  lord,  have  I  deserved  these  words  ? 
Witness  the  tears  that  Isabella  sheds  ; 
Witness  this  heart  that,  sighing  for  thee,  breaks; 
How  dear  my  lord  is  to  poor  Isabel ! 

Edw.  And,  witness,  Heaven,  how  dear  thou  art  to  me  ! 
There,  weep  ;  for  till  my  Gaveston  be  repealed, 
Assure  thyself  thou  com'st  not  in  my  sight. 

[Exit  Edward.] 

Queen.     0  miserable  and  distressed  Queen  ! 

Would  when  I  had  left  fair  France  and  was  embarked, 

That  charming  Circe,  walking  on  the  waves, 

Had  changed  my  shape,  or  at  the  marriage  day 

The  cup  of  Hymen  had  been  full  of  poison, 

Or  with  those  arms  that  twined  about  my  neck 

I  had  been  stifled,  and  not  lived  to  see 

The  King,  my  lord,  thus  to  abandon  me  ! 

Like  frantic  Juno  will  I  fill  the  earth 

With  ghastly  murmur  of  my  sighs  and  cries ; 

For  never  doated  Jove  on  Ganymede 

So  much  as  he  on  cursed  Gaveston  ! 

But  that  will  more  exasperate  his  wrath. 

I  must  entreat  him,  I  must  speak  him  fair, 

And  be  a  means  to  call  home  Gaveston ; 

And  yet  he'll  ever  doat  on  Gaveston. 

And  so  am  I  forever  miserable  ! 


100  WERNER'S  READINGS 

[Enter  Mortimer  and  a  number  of  lords.] 
Mor.     Madam,  how  fares  your  grace  ? 

Queen.     Ah,  Mortimer,  now  breaks  the  King's  hate  forth, 
And  he  confesseth  that  he  loves  me  not ! 

Mor.     Cry  quittance,  Madam,  then,  and  love  not  him. 

Queen.     No,  rather  will  I  die  a  thousand  deaths ; 

And  yet  I  love  in  vain — he'll  ne'er  love  me  ! 

Mor.     Fear  ye  not,  Madam j  now  his  flatterer's  gone 
His  wanton  humour  will  be  quickly  left. 

Queen.     Oh,  never,  Mortimer  !    I  am  enjoined 
To  sue  upon  you  all  for  his  repeal. 
This  wills  my  lord,  and  this  I  must  perform, 
Or  else  be  banished  from  his  highness'  presence. 

Mor.  For  his  repeal,  Madam !  He  comes  not  back, 
Unless  the  sea  cast  up  his  shipwrecked  body. 
But  would  you  have  us  call  him  home  ? 

Queen.     Aye,  Mortimer,  for  till  he  be  restored, 

The  angry  King  hath  banished  me  the  court, 
And,  therefore,  as  thou  lov'st  and  tender'st  me, 
Be  thou  my  advocate  unto  these  peers. 

Mor.     My  lords,  that  I  abhor  base  Gaveston 
I  hope  your  honours  make  no  question  ; 
And,  therefore,  though  I  plead  for  his  repeal, 
'Tis  not  for  his  sake,  but  for  our  avail ! 
Nay,  for  the  realm's  behoof,  and  for  the  King's. 
This  which  I  urge  is  of  a  burning  zeal 
To  mend  the  King,  and  do  our  country  good. 
Know  you  not  Gaveston  hath  store  of  gold, 
"Which  may  in  Ireland  purchase  him  such  friends 
As  he  will  front  the  mightiest  of  us  all  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


101 


And  whereas  he  shall  live  and  be  beloved, 

'Tis  hard  for  us  to  work  his  overthrow. 

But  were  he  here  detested  as  he  is, 

How  easily  might  some  base  slave  be  suborned 

To  greet  his  lordship  with  a  poniard, 

And  none  so  much  as  blame  the  murderer, 

But  rather  praise  him  for  the  brave  attempt, 

For  purging  of  the  realm  of  such  a  plague  I 

On  these  conditions,  my  lords,  you  say  you  consent. 

In  this,  I  count  me  highly  gratified, 

And  Mortimer  will  rest  at  your  command. 

Queen.     And  when  this  favour  Isabel  forgets, 

Then  let  her  live  abandoned  and  forlorn. 
But  see,  in  happy  time,  my  lord,  the  King 
Having  brought  the  Earl  of  Cornwall  on  his  way, 
Is  new  returned.     This  news  will  glad  him  much, 
Yet  not  so  much  as  me.     I  love  him  more 
Than  he  can  G-aveston ;  would  he  love  me 
But  half  so  well,  then  were  I  treble-blessed ! 

[Exeunt.] 
[Edward  enters,  mourning.] 
Edw.     He's  gone,  and  for  his  absence  thus  I  mourn. 
Did  never  sorrow  go  so  near  my  heart 
As  doth  the  want  of  my  sweet  Gaveston  ! 
And  could  my  crown's  revenue  bring  him  back, 
I  would  freely  give  it  to  his  enemies, 
And  think  I  gained,  having  bought  so  dear  a  friend. 
My  heart  is  as  an  anvil  unto  sorrow, 
Which  beats  upon  it  like  the  Cyclops'  hammers, 
And  with  the  noise  turns  up  my  giddy  brain. 
Ah  !  had  some  fiend  with  my  kingly  sceptre 
Struck  me  dead  ere  this  grief  had  come ! 

[Enter  Queen.] 
Queen.     My  gracious  lord,  I  come  to  bring  you  news. 

Edw.     That  you  late  have  parted  from  your  Mortimer  ? 


102  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Queen.  That  G-aveston,  my  lord,  shall  be  repealed. 

Edw.  Repealed  !  the  news  is  too  sweet  to  be  true  ! 

Queen.  But  will  you  love  me,  if  you  find  it  so  ? 

Edw.  If  it  be  so,  what  will  not  Edward  do  ? 

Queen.  For  G-aveston,  but  not  for  Isabel. 

Edw.     For  thee,  fair  Queen ;  if  thou  will  it  so, 

I'll  hang  a  golden  tongue  about  thy  neck, 
Seeing  thou  hast  pleaded  with  so  good  success. 

Queen.     No  other  jewels  hang  about  my  neck 

Than  these,  my  lord ;   nor  let  me  have  more  wealth 
Than  I  may  fetch  from  thy  rich  treasury. 
Oh,  how  thy  smile  revives  poor  Isabel ! 

Edw,     Once  more  receive  my  hand,  and  let  this  be 
A  second  marriage  'twixt  thyself  and  me. 

Queen.     And  may  it  prove  more  happy  than  the  first ! 

[The   Queen    and   Mortimer   conspire  to  dethrone  the 
King,  and  place  her  son  on  the  throne. ~\ 
Mor.     Fair  Isabel,  now  have  we  our  desire, 

The  proud  corrupters  of  the  light-brained  King 
Have  done  their  homage  to  the  lofty  gallows, 
And  he  himself  is  in  captivity. 
Be  ruled  by  me,  and  we  will  rule  the  realm. 
In  any  case,  take  heed  of  childish  fear, 
For  now  we  hold  an  old  wolf  by  the  ears, 
That,  if  he  slip,  will  seize  upon  us  both ; 
Think,  therefore,  Madam,  it  imports  us  much 
To  erect  your  son  with  all  the  speed  we  may, 
And  that  I  be  made  protector  over  him 
For  our  behoof.     'Twill  bear  the  greater  sway 
"When  as  a  king's  name  shall  be  underwrit. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  103 

Queen.     Sweet  Mortimer,  the  life  of  Isabel, 

Be  thou  persuaded  that  I  love  thee  well , 
And,  therefore,  so  the  prince,  my  son,  be  safe, 
Whom  I  esteem  as  dear  as  these  mine  eyes, 
Conclude  against  his  father  as  thou  wilt, 
And  I  will  willingly  subscribe. 

[A    brief  interval   of  soft   music.      Enter   Queen    and 
Mortimer,  after  Edward's  death. 
Queen.     Ah,  Mortimer,  the  King,  my  son,  hath  news — 
His  father's  dead,  and  we  have  murdered  him  ! 


Mor. 
Queen. 


What  if  we  have  ?     The  King  is  yet  a  child. 

Aye,  but  he  tears  his  hair,  and  wrings  his  hands, 

And  vows  to  be  revenged  upon  us  both. 

Into  the  council-chamber  he  is  gone, 

To  crave  the  aid  and  succour  of  his  peers. 

Ah,  me  !     See  where  he  comes,  and  they  with  him  ; 

Now,  Mortimer,  begins  our  tragedy  ! 


DON  QUIXOTE  AND  THE  HUNTRESS. 


MIGUEL    DE     CERVANTES-SAAVEDRA. 


DON  QUIXOTE  and  Sancho  Panza,  issuing  from  a  forest  near 
sunset  on  the  day  following  the  famous  adventure  of  the 
enchanted  bark,  espied  sundry  persons  at  a  distance,  who,  it 
appeared,  were  taking  the  diversion  of  hawking ;  and  among  them 
he  remarked  a  gay  lady  mounted  on  a  palfrey,  or  milk-white  pad, 
with  green  furniture  and  a  side-saddle  of  cloth  of  silver.  Her 
own  attire  was  also  green,  and  so  rich  and  beautiful  that  she  was 
elegance  itself.  On  her  left  hand  she  carried  a  hawk;  whence 
Don  Quixote  conjectured  that  she  must  be  a  lady  of  high  rank, 
and  mistress  of  the  hunting-party  (as  in  truth  she  was),  and  there- 
fore he  said  to  his  squire : 


104  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"Hasten,  Sancho,  and  make  known  to  the  lady  of  the  palfrey 
and  the  hawk  that  I,  the  Knight  of  the  Lions,  humbly  salute  her 
highness,  and,  with  her  gracious  leave,  would  be  proud  to  kiss  her 
fair  hands,  and  serve  her  to  the  utmost  of  my  power  and  her  high- 
ness's  commands ;  but  take  especial  care,  Sancho,  how  thou  deliver- 
est  my  message." 

Sancho  set  off  at  a  good  rate,  forcing  Dapple  out  of  his  usual 
pace,  and  went  up  to  the  fair  huntress ;  then  alighting,  and  kneel- 
ing before  her,  said : 

"Beauteous  lady,  that  Knight  yonder,  called  the  Knight  of 
the  Lions,  is  my  master,  and  I  am  his  squire,  Sancho  Panza,  by 
name.  That  same  Knight  sends  me  to  beg  your  grandeur  that 
you  would  give  leave  that,  with  your  liking  and  good-will,  he  may 
approach  and  accomplish  his  wishes,  which  are  no  other  than  to 
serve  your  exalted  beauty,  which,  if  your  ladyship  grant,  will 
redound  to  the  great  benefit  of  your  highness,  and  to  him  will  be 
a  mighty  favor  and  satisfaction." 

"Truly,  good  squire,"  answered*  the  lady,  "you  have  delivered 
your  message  with  all  the  circumstances  such  embassies  require. 
Rise  up,  I  pray,  for  it  is  not  fit  the  squire  of  so  renowned  a  knight 
should  remain  upon  his  knees.  Rise,  friend,  and  desire  your 
master,  by  all  means  to  honor  us  with  his  company,  that  my  lord 
duke  and  I  may  pay  him  our  respects  at  a  rural  mansion  we  have 
hard  by." 

Sancho  rose,  no  less  amazed  at  the  lady's  beauty  than  at  her 
affability  and  courteous  deportment.  "  Pray,"  said  the  Duchess, 
"  is  not  your  master  the  person  of  whom  there  is  a  history  in  print, 
called  '  The  Ingenious  Gentleman,  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha,'  and 
who  has  for  his  mistress  a  certain  lady  named  Dulcinea  del 
Toboso  ?  " 

"The  very  same,"  answered  Sancho,  "and  that  squire  of  his, 
called  Sancho  Panza,  who  is,  or  ought  to  be,  spoken  of  in  the  same 
history,  am  I,  unless  I  was  changed  in  the  cradle, — I  mean  in  the 
printing." 

"  I  am  much  delighted  by  what  you  tell  me,"  quoth  the  Duchess. 
"Go  to  your  master,  good  Panza,  and  give  him  my  invitation  and 


AND  RECITATIONS.  105 

learty  welcome  to  my  house ;  and  tell  him  nothing  could  happen 
io  me  which  would  afford  me  greater  pleasure." 

Sancho,  overjoyed  at  this  gracious  answer,  hastened  to  his  master, 
md  repeated  to  him  all  the  great  lady  had  said,  extolling  to  the 
ikies,  in  his  rustic  phrase,  her  extraordinary  beauty  and  courteous 
Dehavior.  Don  Quixote  seated  himself  handsomely  in  his  saddle, 
idjusted  his  visor,  enlivened  Rozinante's  mettle,  and,  assuming  a 
jolite  and  stately  deportment,  advanced  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the 
Duchess,  Her  grace,  in  the  meantime,  having  called  the  Duke, 
ler  husband,  had  already  given  him  an  account  of  the  embassy 
ihe  had  just  received;  and,  as  they  were  aware  of  the  extravagant 
mmor  of  Don  Quixote,  they  waited  for  him  with  infinite  pleasure. 

Don  Quixote  now  arrived,  with  his  beaver  up,  and  signifying 
lis  intention  to  alight,  Sancho  was  hastening  to  hold  his  stirrup ; 
)ut,  unfortunately,  in  dismounting  from  Dapple,  his  foot  caught  in 
me  of  the  rope-stirrups  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  impossible 
or  him  to  disentangle  himself;  and  he  hung  by  it,  with  his  face 
Jid  breast  on  the  ground.  Don  Quixote,  who  was  not  accustomed 
o  alight  without  having  his  stirrup  held3  thinking  that  Sancho  was 
already  there  to  do  his  office,  threw  his  body  off  with  a  swing  of 
ds  right  leg,  that  brought  down  Rozinante's  saddle ;  and,  the 
irth  giving  way,  both  he  and  the  saddle,  to  his  great  shame  and 
aortification,  came  to  the  ground,  where  he  lay,  muttering  between 
is  teeth  many  a  heavy  execration  against  the  unfortunate  Sancho, 
fho  was  still  hanging  by  the  leg.  The  Duke,  having  commanded 
ome  of  his  attendants  to  relieve  the  Knight  and  the  squire,  they 
aised  Don  Quixote,  who,  though  much  discomposed  by  his  fall,  rose 
ud  limping  made  an  effort  to  approach  and  kneel  before  the  lady, 
^e  Duke,  however,  embraced  him,  saying : 

"I  am  sorry,  Sir  Knight,  that  such  a  mischance  should  happen 
p  you  on  your  first  arrival  in  my  domain ;  but  the  negligence  of 
quires  is  often  the  occasion  of  even  greater  disasters." 

"  The  moment  cannot  be  unfortunate  that  introduces  me  to  your 
ighness,"  replied  Don  Quixote,  "  and,  had  my  fall  been  to  the 
mtre  of  the  deep  abyss,  the  glory  of  seeing  your  highness  would 
ave  raised  me  thence.    But  whether  down  or  up,  on  horseback  or 


106  WERNER'S  READINGS 

on  foot,  I  shall  always  be  at  the  service  of  your  highness,  and  of 
my  lady  Duchess,  your  worthy  consort." 

Sancho  Panza  had  now  got  freed  from  the  noose,  and  being  near, 
before  the  master  could  answer,  he  said : 

"  I  have  heard  say  that  what  they  call  nature  is  like  a  potter 
who  makes  earthen  vessels,  and  he  who  makes  one  handsome  vessel 
may  also  make  two.  This  I  say  because,  by  my  faith,  her  high- 
ness there  comes  not  a  whit  behind  my  mistress,  the  lady  Dulcinea 
del  Toboso." 

Don  Quixote  here  turned  to  the  Duchess  and  said:  "  I  assure 
your  grace,  never  any  knight-errant  in  the  world  had  a  more  con- 
ceited prater  for  his  squire  than  I  have ;  of  this  he  will  give  ample 
proof,  if  it  please  your  highness  to  accept  of  my  service  for  some 
days." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  my  friend  Sancho  is  conceited,"  replied 
the  Duchess.  "  It  is  a  sign  of  good  sense;  for  wit  and  gay  con-; 
ceits  proceed  not  from  dull  heads." 

By  this  time,  Sancho,  having  adjusted  Rozinante's  saddle,  Don 
Quixote  remounted,  and  he  and  the  Duke,  who  rode  a  stately 
courser,  with  the  Duchess  between  them,  proceeded  toward  the: 
castle.  The  Duchess  requested  Sancho  to  be  near  her,  being: 
mightily  pleased  with  his  arch  observations ;  nor  did  Sancho  re- 
quire entreaty,  but,  joining  the  other  three,  made  a  fourth  in  the 
conversation,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  Duke  and  the  Duchess, 
who  looked,  upon  themselves  as  highly  fortunate  in  having  to  intro- 
duce such  guests  to  their  castle,  and  the  prospect  of  enjoying  the 
company  of  such  a  knight-errant,  and  such  an  errant-squire. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  107 

COMEDY  OF  ERRORS. 


WILLIAM   SHAKESPEARE. 


Act  II. ,  Scene  2. 


[Enter  Antipholus  of  Syracuse.] 


A  NTIPHOLUS  SYRACUSE.    The  gold  I  gave  to  Dromio  is 
g*"     laid  up 

Safe  at  the  Centaur ;  and  the  heedful  slave 
Is  wandered  forth,  in  care  to  seek  me  out. 
By  computation,  and  mine  host's  report, 
I  could  not  speak  with  Dromio,  since  at  first 
I  sent  him  from  the  mart :    See,  here  he  comes. 

[Enter  Dromio  of  Syracuse.] 
How  now,  sir  ?  is  your  merry  humour  altered  ? 
As  your  love  strokes,  so  jest  with  me  again. 
You  know  no  Centaur  ?  you  received  no  gold  ? 
Your  mistress  sent  to  have  me  home  to  dinner  ? 
My  house  was  at  the  Phoenix  ?     Wast  thou  mad, 
That  thus  so  madly  thou  didst  answer  me  ? 

Dromio  Syracuse.     What  answer,  sir  ?     When  spake  I  such  a 
word  ? 

Ant.  S.     Even  now,  even  here,  not  half  an  hour  since. 

Dro.  S.     I  did  not  see  you  since  you  sent  me  hence, 
Home  to  the  Centaur,  with  the  gold  you  gave  me. 

Ant.  S.     Villain,  thou  didst  deny  the  gold's  receipt, 
And  told'st  me  of  a  mistress,  and  a  dinner ; 
For  which,  I  hope,  thou  felt'st  I  was  displeased. 

Dro.  S.     I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  this  merry  vein : 
What  means  this  jest?     I  pray  you,  master,  tell  me. 

Ant.  S.     Yea,  dost  thou  jeer,  and  flout  me  in  the  teeth  ? 
Think'st  thou  I  jest  ?    Hold,  take  thou  that  and  that.    [Beats  him.] 

Dro.  S.     Hold,  sir,  for  pity's  sake :  now  your  jest  is  earnest : 
Upon  what  bargain  do  you  give  it  me  ? 


108  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Ant.  S.     Dost  thou  not  know  ? 

Dro.  S.     Nothing,  sir,  but  that  I  am  beaten. 

Ant.  8.     Shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 

Dro.  8.  Ay,  sir,  and  wherefore  ;  for,  they  say  every  why  hat' 
a  wherefore. 

Ant.  S.     Why,  first,  for  flouting  me  ;  and  then,  wherefore, — 
for  urging  it  the  second  time  to  me. 

Dro.  S.     "Was  there  ever  any  man  thus  beaten  out  of  season  ? 
When  in  the  why  and  the  wherefore  is  neither  rhyme  nor  reason 
Well,  sir,  I  thank  you. 

Ant.  8.  Thank  me,  sir  ?  for  what  ? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  for  this  something  that  you  gave  me  fo 
nothing. 

Ant.  S.  I'll  make  you  amends  next,  to  give  you  nothing  fo 

something.  But  say,  sir,  is  it  dinner-time  ? 

Dro.  S.  No,  sir;  I  think  the  meat  wants  that  I  have. 

Ant.  S.  In  good  time,  sir,  what's  that  ? 

Dro.  S.  Basting. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  then  'twill  be  dry. 

Dro.  S.  If  it  be,  sir,  I  pray  you  eat  none  of  it. 

Ant.  S.  Your  reason  ? 

Dro.  S.  Lest  it  make  you  choleric,  and  purchase  me  anothe 
dry  basting. 

Ant.  S.  Well,  sir,  learn  to  jest  in  good  time.  There's  a  timi 
for  all  things. 

Dro.  8.     I  durst  have  denied  that,  before  you  were  so  choleric' 

Ant.  S.     By  what  rule,  sir  ? 

Dro.  S.  Marry,  sir,  by  a  rule  as  plain  as  the  plain  bald  pate  o 
Father  Time  himself. 

Ant.  S.     Let's  hear  it. 
Dro.  Sj     There's  no  time  for  a  man  to  recover  his  hair  that  grow 
bald  by  nature. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  109 

Ant.  S.     May  lie  not  do  it  by  fine  and  recovery  ? 

Dro.  S.     Yes,  to  pay  a  fine  for  a  peruke,  and  recover  the  lost 
hair  of  another  man. 

Ant.  S.     Why  is  time  such  a  niggard  of  hair,  being,  as  it  is,  so 
plentiful  an  excrement  ? 

Dro.  S.     Because  it  is  a  blessing  that  he  bestows  on  beasts  -,  and 
what  he  hath  scanted  men  in  hair,  he  hath  given  them  in  wit. 

Ant.  S.     Why,  but  there's  many  a  man  hath  more  hair  than  wit. 

Dro.  S.     Not  a  man  of  those,  but  he  hath  the  wit  to  lose  his  hair. 

Ant.  S.     You  would  all  this  time  have  proved  there  is  no  time 
for  all  things. 

Dro.  S.     Marry,  and  did,  sir ;  namely,  no  time  to  recover  hair 
lost  by  nature. 

Ant,  S.     But  your  reason  was  not  substantial,  why  there  is  no 
time  to  recover. 

Dro.  S.     Thus  I  mend  it:   Time  himself  is  bald,  and,  therefore, 
to  the  world's  end  will  have  bald  followers. 

Ant.  S.     I  knew  it  would  be  a  bald  conclusion.     But  soft !  who 
wafts  us  yonder  ? 

[Enter  Adriana  and  Luciana.] 

Adriana.     Ay,  ay,  Antipholus,  look  strange  and  frown ; 
Some  other  mistress  hath  thy  sweet  aspects. 
I  am  not  Adriana,  nor  thy  wife. 
The  time  was  once,  when  thou  unurged  wouldst  vow 
That  never  words  were  music  to  thine  ear, 
That  ne^er  object  pleasing  in  thine  eye, 
That  never  touch  well-welcome  to  thy  hand, 
That  never  meat  sweet-savoured  in  thy  taste, 
Unless  I  spake,  looked,  touched,  or  carved  to  thee. 
How  comes  it  now,  my  husband,  oh,  how  comes  it, 
That  thou  art  then  estranged  from  thyself? 
Thyself  I  call  it,  being  strange  to  me. 
For  know,  my  love,  as  easy  mayst  thou  fall 
A  drop  of  water  in  the  breaking  gulf, 


110  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  take  unmingled  thence  that  drop  again, 

Without  addition  or  diminishing, 

As  take  from  me  thyself,  and  not  me  too. 

Ant.  S.     Plead  you  to  me,  fair  dame  ?     I  know  you  not : 
In  Ephesus  I  am  but  two  hours  old, 
As  strange  unto  your  town  as  to  your  talk. 

Luciana.     Fie,  brother  !  how  the  world  is  changed  with  you ! 
When  were  you  wont  to  use  my  sister  thus  ? 
She  sent  for  you  by  Droniio  home  to  dinner. 

Ant,  S.     By  Dromio  ? 

Dro.  S.     Byrne? 

Adr.     By  thee ;  and  this  thou  didst  return  from  him, — 
That  he  did  buffet  thee,  and,  in  his  blows 
Denied  my  house  for  his,  me  for  his  wife. 

Ant    S      Did  you  converse,  sir,  with  this  gentlewoman  ? 
What  is  the  force  and  drift  of  your  compact  ? 

Dro.    S.     I,  sir  ?     I  never  saw  her  till  this  time. 

Ant.  S.     Villain,  thou  liest;  for  even  her  very  words 
Didst  thou  deliver  to  me  on  the  mart. 

Dro.  S.     I  never  spake  with  her  in  all  my  life. 

Ant.  S.     How  can  she  thus,  then,  call  us  by  our  names, 
Unless  it  be  by  inspiration  ? 

Adr.  How  ill  agrees  it  with  your  gravity, 
To  counterfeit  thus  grossly  with  your  slave, 
Abetting  him  to  thwart  me  in  my  mood ! 
Be  it  my  wrong,  you  are  from  me  exempt, 
But  wrong  not  that  wrong  with  a  more  contempt. 
Come,  I  will  fasten  on  this  sleeve  of  thine  : 
Thou  art  an  elm,  my  husband,  I,  a  vine, 
Whose  weakness,  married  to  thy  stronger  state, 
Makes  me  with  thy  strength  to  communicate. 

Ant,  S.     To  me  she  speaks ;  she  moves  me  for  her  theme : 
What,  was  I  married  to  her  in  my  dream  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  Ill 

j)r  sleep  I  now,  and  think  I  hear  all  this  ? 
flfhat  error  drives  our  eyes  and  ears  amiss  ? 
Jntil  I  know  this  sure  uncertainty, 
'11  entertain  the  offered  fallacy. 

Luc.     Dromio,  go  bid  the  servants  spread  for  dinner. 

Dro.  S.     0  for  my  beads  !    I  cross  me  for  a  sinner. 
Fhis  is  the  fairy  land.     0  spite  of  spites  ! 
We  talk  with  goblins,  owls,  and  elvish  sprites; 
[f  we  obey  them  not,  this  will  ensue — 
rhey'll  suck  our  breath,  or  pinch  us  black  and  blue. 

Luc.     Why  prat'st  thou  to  thyself,  and  answer'st  not  ? 
Dromio,  thou  drone,  thou  snail,  thou  slug,  thou  sot  ? 

Dro.  S.     I  am  transformed,  master,  am  not  I  ? 

Ant.  S.     I  think  thou  art  in  mind,  and  so  am  I. 

Dro.  S.     Nay,  master,  both  in  mind  and  in  my  shape. 

Ant.  S.     Thou  hast  thine  own  form. 

Dro.  S.  No,  I  am  an  ape. 

Luc.     If  thou  art  changed  to  aught  'tis  to  an  ass. 

Dro.  S.     'Tis  true  ;  she  rides  me,  and  I  long  for  grass. 
Tis  so,  I  am  an  ass ;  else  it  could  never  be 
3ut  I  should  know  her  as  well  as  she  knows  me. 

Adr.     Come,  come,  no  longer  will  I  be  a  fool, 
Co  put  the  finger  in  the  eye  and  weep, 
iVhilst  man  and  master  laugh  my  woes  to  scorn. 
Clome,  sir,  to  dinner ;   Dromio,  keep  the  gate  : 
lusband,  I'll  dine  above  with  you  to-day, 
Vnd  shrive  you  of  a  thousand  idle  pranks. 
Sirrah,  if  any  ask  you  for  your  master, 
Say,  he  dines  forth,  and  let  no  creature  enter. 
Jome,  sister;  Dromio,  play  the  porter  well. 
I  Ant.  8.     Am  I  in  earth,  in  heaven,  or  in  hell? 
peeping  or  waking  ?  mad  or  well  advised  ? 
Ilnown  unto  these,  and  to  myself  disguised  ? 


112  WERNERS  READINGS 

I'll  say  as  they  say,  and  persever  so, 
And  in  this  mist  at  all  adventures  go. 

Dro.  S.     Master,  shall  I  be  porter  at  the  gate  ? 

Adr.     Ay ;  and  let  none  enter,  lest  I  break  your  pate. 

Luc.     Come,  come,  Antipholus,  we  dine  too  late  ! 

[Exeunt.] 


EVE'S  MIRROR. 


JOHN  MILTON. 


HP  HAT  day  I  oft  remember,  when  from  sleep 
■"■       I  first  awaked,  and  found  myself  reposed 
Under  a  shade  of  flow'rs.     Not  distant  far  a  murm'ring  sound 
Of  waters  issued  from  a  cave,  and  spread 
Into  a  liquid  plain,  then  stood  unmoved 
Pure  as  the  expanse  of  Heav'n.     I  thither  went 
On  the  green  bank,  to  look  into  the  clear, 
Smooth  lake,  that  to  me  seemed  another  sky. 
As  I  bent  down  to  look,  just  opposite 
A  shape  within  the  wat'ry  gleam  appeared, 
Bending  to  look  on  me.     I  started  back. 
It  started  back ;  but  pleased  I  soon  returned. 
Pleased  it  returned  as  soon  with  answering  looks 
Of  sympathy  and  love.     There  I  had  fixed 
Mine  eyes  till  now,  had  not  a  voice 
Thus  warned  me  :  "  What  there  thou  seest, 
Fair  creature,  is  thyself ;  with  thee  it  came 
And  goes.     But  follow  me  and  I  will  bring 
Thee  where  no  shadow  stays  thy  coming." 
*        *        *        *        *        What  could  I  do 
But  follow  straight  invisibly  thus  led  ? 
Till  I  espied  thee,  Adam,  fair  and  tall, 
Under  a  platane ;  yet  methought  less  fair, 
Less  winning  soft,  less  amiably  mild, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  113 

rhan  that  smooth,  watery  image.     Back  I  turned : 
rhou  following  criedst  aloud,  "  Return,  fair  Eve ; 
Whom  fly'st  thou  ?    Whom  thou  fly'st  of  him  thou  art ; 
Part  of  my  soul,  I  seek  thee  and  thee  claim, 
My  other  half."     With  that  thy  gentle  hand 
Seized  mine.     I  yielded,  and  from  that  time  see 
Eow  beauty  is  excelled  by  manly  grace 
A.nd  wisdom,  which  alone  is  truly  fair. 


DORCAS  AND  GREGORY. 


MOLIERE. 


Scene  1. 


GREGORY.  I  tell  you  no  !  I  won't  comply,  and  it's  my  busi- 
ness to  talk  and  command, 

Dorcas.  And  I  tell  you,  you  shall  conform  to  my  will,  and  that 
[  was  not  married  to  you  to  suffer  your  ill-humors  ! 

Greg.  Oh,  the  intolerable  fatigue  of  matrimony!  Aristotle 
never  said  a  better  thing  in  his  life  than  when  he  told  us  that  a 
wife  is  worse  than  a  fiend. 

Dor.      Hear  the  learned  gentleman,  with  his  Aristotle  ! 

Greg.  And  a  learned  man  I  am,  too ;  find  me  out  a  maker  of 
fagots  that's  able,  like  myself,  to  reason  upon  things,  or  that  can 
boast  such  an  education  as  mine. 

Dor.     An  education ! 

Greg.  Ay,  a  regular  education ;  first,  at  a  school  where  I  learned 
to  read ;  then,  with  a  gentleman  at  Oxford,  where  I  learned  very 
near  as  much  as  my  teacher ;  from  whence  I  attended  a  traveling- 
physician  six  years,  under  the  facetious  denomination  of  a  Merry 
Andrew,  where  I  learned  physic. 

Dor.  0  that  thou  hadst  followed  him  still !  Alas,  alas !  the 
hour  wherein  I  answered  the  parson  "  I  will !  " 


114  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Greg.     And  plagued  be  the  parson  that  asked  me  the  question ! 
Dor.      You  have  reason  to  complain  of  him,  indeed,  who  ought 
to  be  on  your  knees  every  moment  returning  thanks  to  Heaven  for 
that  great  blessing  it  sent  you  when  it  sent  you  myself.     I  hope 
you  have  not  the  assurance  to  think  you  deserve  such  a  wife ! 
Greg.     No,  really,  I  don't  think  I  do. 
Dor.  [sings;  air,  " Bessy  Bell"]. 

When  a  lady  like  me  condescends  to  agree 

To  let  such  a  jackanapes  woo  her, 
With  what  zeal  and  care  should  he  worship  the  fair, 

With  his  love  i'  good  faith  to  endue  her. 
His  actions  should  still  attend  on  her  will — 

Hear,  sirrah,  and  take  it  for  warning, — 
To  her  he  should  be  each  night  on  his  knee, 
And  so  he  should  be  on  each  morning. 

Greg.     Come,  come,  madam ;  it  was  a  lucky  day  for  you  when 
you  found  me  out. 

Dor.  Lucky,  indeed  !  a  fellow  who  eats  everything  I  have  ! 

Greg.  That  happens  to  be  a  mistake,  for  I  drink  some  part  on't. 

Dor.  That  has  not  even  left  me  a  bed  to  lie  on.          [Sobs.] 

Greg.  You'll  rise  the  earlier. 

Dor.  And  who  from  morning  till  night  is  eternally  in  an  ale- 

house-  [Still  sobs.] 

Greg.  It's  genteel— the  squire  does  the  same. 

Dor.  Pray,  sir,  what  are  you  willing  I  shall  do  with  my  family  ? 

Greg.  Whatever  you  please.                                        [Angrily.] 

Dor.     My  four  little   children  that  are  continually  crying  for 
bread ! 

Greg.     Give  'em  a  rod!     Best   cure  in  the  world  for  crying 
children  ! 

Dor.     And  do  you  imagine,  brute,  [angrily] — 
Greg.     Hark  ye,  my  dear ;  you  know  my  temper  is  not  over  and 
above  passive,  and  that  my  arm  is  extremely  active. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  115 

Dor.  [derisively].  I  laugh  at  your  threats  [enraged],  you  poor, 
beggarly,  insolent  fellow ! 

Greg,  [tantalizingly].  Soft  object  of  my  wishing  eyes,  I  shall 
play  with  your  pretty  ears. 

Dor.  [angrily].  Touch  me  if  you  dare,  you  insolent,  lazy,  impu- 
lent, — 

Greg.     Oh,  ho,  ho  !     You  will  have  it  then,  I  find !     [Beats  her.] 

Dor.     Oh,  murder !  murder !   murder ! 

Scene  2. 
[Enter  Squire  Robert.] 
Squire  Robert.      What's  the  matter  here  ?     Fie  upon  you,  fie 
lpon  you,  neighbor,  to  beat  your  wife  in  this  scandalous  manner ! 
Dor.     Well,  sir,  and  I  have  a  mind  to  be  beat,  and  what  then  ? 
Sq.  Rob.     0  dear,  madam !    I  give  my  consent  with  all  my  heart 
md  soul. 
Dor.     What's  that  to  you,  sauce-box  ?  Is  it  any  business  of  yours? 
Sq.  Rob.     No,  certainly,  madam,  it  is  not !     But — 
Dor.     Here's  an  impertinent  fellow  for  you  !     Won't  suffer  a 
msband  to  beat  his  own  wife  ! 

[Sings;  air,  "  Winchester  Wedding."] 
Go  thrash  your  own  rib,  sir,  at  home, 

Nor  thus  interfere  with  our  strife, 
May  misery  still  be  his  doom 

Who  strives  to  part  husband  and  wife. 
Suppose  I've  a  mind  he  should  drub, 

Whose  bones  are  they,  sir,  he's  to  lick  ? 
At  whose  expense  is  it,  you  scrub  ? 
You  are  not  to  find  him  a  stick ! 

Sq.  Rob.    [to  Greg].     Neighbor,   I   ask  your  pardon  heartily. 
Here,  take  and  thrash  your  wife ;  beat  her,  as  you  ought  to  do. 
Greg.     No,  sir,  I  won't  beat  her. 
Sq.  Rob.     0  sir,  that's  another  thing.    Now  you're  manly,  and—- 


116  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Greg.  I'll  beat  her  when  I  please ;  and  will  not  beat  her  when 
I  do  not  please.     She's  my  wife,  and  not  yours. 

Sq.  Rob.     Certainly,  certainly,  beat  her — 

Dor.  [very  much  enraged].     Give  me  the  stick,  dear  husband. 

Sq.  Rob.  Well,  if  ever  I  attempt  to  part  husband  and  wife 
again,  may  I  be  beaten  myself !     [Exit.] 

Scene  3. 
Greg.     Come,  my  dear,  let  us  be  friends. 
Dor.  [pouting].     What,  after  beating  me  so  ? 
Greg.     'Twas  but  in  jest. 

Dor.  [indignant].  I  desire  you  will  crack  your  jests  on  your 
own  bones,  not  on  mine  ! 

Greg,  Pshaw  !  you  know  you  and  I  are  one ;  and  I  beat  one- 
half  of  myself  when  I  beat  you. 

Dor.  Yes  ;  but  for  the  future  I  desire  you  will  beat  the  other 
half  of  yourself. 

Greg,  [caressingly].  Come,  my  pretty  dear,  I  ask  pardon  5  I  am 
sorry  for't.     Forgive,  and  I  promise — 

Dor.  Never  to  do  so  again  ?  Well,  for  once  I  pardon  you  ;  but 
you  shall  pay  for't. 

Greg.  Pshaw  !  pshaw !  child ;  these  are  only  little  affairs, 
necessary  in  friendship ;  four  or  five  good  blows  with  a  cudgel 
between  very  fond  couples  only  tend  to  heighten  the  affections 
I'll  now  to  the  wood,  and  I  promise  thee  to  make  a  hundred  fagots 
before  I  come  home.     [Exit.] 

Dor.  [shaking  fist  at  him  as  he  goes].  If  I  am  not  revenged  on 
those  blows  of  yours,  my  name  is  not  Dorcas  !  Oh,  that  I  could 
but  think  of  some  method  to  be  revenged  on  him!  Hang  the 
rogue,  he  is  quite  insensible  !  Oh,  that  I  could  find  out  some 
invention  to  get  him  well  drubbed,  and  be  even  with  him  !  I 
will !  I  will  !     [Leaves  in  great  excitement.] 


AND  RECITATIONS.  117 

THE    COUNCIL  OF   THE   RATS. 


JEAN    DE    LA    FONTAINE. 


/^~\LD  Rodillard,  a  certain  cat, 

^-^     Such  havoc  of  the  rats  had  made 

'Twas  difficult  to  find  a  rat 

With  nature's  debt  unpaid. 
The  few  that  did  remain, 

To  leave  their  holes  afraid, 
From  usual  food  abstain. 
Now,  on  a  day,  this  dread  rat-eater 
Who  had  a  wife,  went  out  to  meet  her; 
And  while  he  held  his  caterwauling, 
The  unkilled  rats,  their  chapter  calling, 
Discussed  the  point,  in  grave  debate, 
How  they  might  shun  impending  fate. 

Their  dean,  a  prudent  rat, 
Thought  best,  and  better  soon  than  late, 

To  bell  the  fatal  cat, 
That,  when  he  took  his  hunting  round, 
The  rats,  well  cautioned  by  the  sound, 
Might  hide  in  safety  under  ground : 
Indeed,  he  knew  no  other  means  ; 
And  all  the  rest, 
At  once  confessed 
Their  minds  were  with  the  dean's. 
No  better  plan  they  all  believed 
Could  possibly  have  been  conceived ; 
No  doubt  the  thing  would  work  right  well, 
If  any  one  wTould  hang  the  bell. 
But,  one  by  one,  said  every  rat : 
"  I'm  not  so  big  a  fool  as  that !" 
The  plan  knocked  out  in  this  respect, 
The  council  closed  without  effect. 


118  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  many  a  council  I  have  seen, 
Or  reverend  chapter  with  its  dean, 
That,  thus  resolving  wisely, 
Fell  through,  like  this  precisely. 
To  argue  or  refute, 

Wise  counsellors  abound ; 
The  man  to  execute 
Is  harder  to  be  found. 


A  SONG  FOR  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY. 


JOHN     DRTDEN. 


"PROM  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 

This  universal  frame  began : 
When  nature  underneath  a  heap 
Of  jarring  atoms  lay, 
And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high, 
"  Arise,  ye  more  than  dead  !" 
Then,  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry, 
In  order  to  their  stations  leap, 
And  Music's  power  obey. 
From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 
This  universal  frame  began ; 
From  harmony  to  harmony, 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran, 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  man. 

What  passion  cannot  music  raise  and  quell  f 

When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell, 

His  listening  brethren  stood  around, 

And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 

To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 

Less  than  a  god  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 

Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  119 

That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well, 

What  passion  cannot  music  raise  and  quell  ? 

The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms, 

"With  shrill  notes  of  anger, 

And  mortal  alarms. 

The  double,  double,  double  beat 

Of  the  thundering  drum 

Cries,  "  Hark,  the  foes  come  ! 

Charge,  charge  !  'tis  too  late  to  retreat." 

The  soft,  complaining  flute 

In  dying  notes  discovers 

The  woes  of  hapless  lovers, 

Whose  dirge  is  whispered  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  violins  proclaim 

Their  jealous  pangs,  and  desperation, 

Fury,  frantic  indignation, 

Depth  of  pains  and  height  of  passion, 

For  the  fair,  disdainful  dame. 

But  0 !  what  art  can  teach, 

What  human  voice  can  reach, 

The  sacred  organ's  praise  ? 

Notes  inspiring  holy  love, 

Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 

To  mend  the  choirs  above. 

Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race  ; 

And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place, 

Sequacious  of  the  lyre; 

But  bright  Cecilia  raised  the  wonder  higher, 

When  to  her  organ  vocal  breath  was  given, 

An  angel  heard,  and  straight  appeared, 

Mistaking  earth  for  Heaven. 

As  from  the  power  of  sacred  lays 
The  spheres  began  to  move, 


120  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  sung  the  great  Creator's  praise 
To  all  the  blessed  above ; 
So,  when  the  last  and  dreadful  hour 
This  crumbling  pageant  shall  devour, 
The  trumpet  shall  be  heard  on  high, 
The  dead  shall- live,  the  living  die, 
And  Music  shall  untune  the  sky. 


BAUCIS  AND  PHILEMON. 


JONATHAN    SWIFT. 


T  N  ancient  times,  as  story  tells, 
■*■     The  saints  would  often  leave  their  cells 
And  stroll  about,  but  hide  their  quality, 
To  try  good  people's  hospitality. 

It  happened  on  a  winter's  night, 
As  authors  of  the  legends  write, 
Two  brother  hermits,  saints  by  trade, 
Taking  their  tour  in  masquerade, 
Disguised  in  tattered  habits,  went 
To  a  small  village  down  in  Kent ; 
Where  in  the  strollers'  canting  strain, 
They  begged  from  door  to  door  in  vain. 
Our  wandering  saints  in  woful  state, 
Treated  at  this  ungodly  rate, 
Having  through  ail  the  village  passed, 
To  a  small  cottage  came  at  last ; 
Where  dwelt  a  good  old  honest  yeoman, 
Called  in  the  neighborhood  Philemon, 
Who  kindly  did  these  saints  invite 
In  his  poor  hut  to  pass  the  night. 
And  then  the  hospitable  sire 
Bid  goodly  Baucis  mend  the  fire; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  121 

While  he,  from  out  the  chimney  took, 
A  flitch  of  bacon  off  the  hook  ; 
Then  stepped  aside  to  fetch  'em  drink ; 
Filled  a  large  jag  up  to  the  brink 
And  saw  it  fairly  twice  go  round. 
Yet  (what  is  wonderful)  they  found 
'Twas  still  replenished  to  the  top, 
As  if  they  had  not  touched  a  drop. 
The  good  old  couple  were  amazed 
And  often  on  each  other  gazed, 
For  both  were  frightened  to  the  heart 
And  just  began  to  cry  "  What  art  ?  " 

The  gentle  pilgrims  soon  aware  on't, 
Told  them  their  calling  and  their  errant: 
"Good  folks,  ye  need  not  be  afraid, 
We  are  but  saints,"  the  hermits  said. 
"  No  hurt  shall  come  to  you  or  yours ; 
But  for  that  pack  of  churlish  boors, 
Not  fit  to  live  on  Christian  ground, 
They  and  their  houses  shall  be  drowned; 
Whilst  you  shall  see  your  cottage  rise 
And  grow  a  church  before  your  eyes." 

They  scarce  had  spoke  when,  fair  and  soft, 

The  roof  began  to  mount  aloft ; 

The  chimney  widened  and  grew  higher, 

Became  a  steeple  with  a  spire ; 

The  chimney  to  a  steeple  grown, 

The  jack  would  not  be  left  alone, 

But  up  against  the  steeple  reared 

Became  a  clock,  and  still  adhered. 

But  still  its  love  to  household  cares, 

By  a  shrill  voice  at  noon  declares, 

Warning  the  cook-maid  not  to  burn  • 

That  roast  meat  which  it  cannot  turn. 


122  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  groaning  chair  began  to  crawl 
Like  a  huge  snail  upon  the  wall ; 
There  stuck  aloft,  in  public  view, 
And,  with  small  change  a  pulpit  grew. 
A  bedstead  of  the  antique  mode 
Compact  of  timber,  many  a  load, 
Such  as  our  ancestors  did  use, 
Was  metamorphosed  into  pews. 

The  cottage  by  such  feats  as  these 
Grown  to  a  church  by  just  degrees, 
The  hermits  then  desired  their  host 
To  ask  for  what  he  fancied  most. 
Philemon,  having  paused  awhile 
Returned  them  thanks  in  homely  style, 
Then  said :     "  My  house  is  grown  so  fine, 
Methinks  I  still  would  call  it  mine. 
I'm  old,  and  fain  would  live  at  ease, 
Make  me  the  parson,  if  you  please." 
He  spoke ;  and  presently  he  feels 
His  grazier's  coat  fall  down  his  heels; 
He  sees,  yet  hardly  can  believe, 
About  each  arm  a  pudding-sleeve ; 
His  waistcoat  to  a  cassock  grew, 
And  both  assumed  a  sable  hue. 
His  talk  was  now  of  tithes  arid  dues, 
He  smoked  his  pipe  and  read  the  news ; 
Knew  how  to  preach  old  sermons  next, 
Vamped  in  the  preface  and  the  text. 

Thus  having  furnished  up  a  parson 

Dame  Baucis  next  they  played  their  farce  on. 

Her  petticoat  transformed  apace, 

Became  black  satin,  flounced  with  lace; 

Plain  Goody  would  no  longer  down — 

'Twas  Madam  in  her  grosgrain  gown. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  123 

Titus,  happy  in  their  change  of  life, 

Were  several  years  this  man  and  wife ; 

When  on  a  day  which  proved  their  last, 

Discoursing  o'er  old  stories  past, 

They  went  by  chance,  amidst  their  talk, 

To  the  churchyard  to  take  a  walk; 

When  Baucis  hastily  cried  out : 

"  My  dear,  I  see  your  forehead  sprout !  " 

"  Sprout !  "  quoth  the  man,  "  what's  that  you  tell  us  ? 

I  hope  you  don't  believe  me  jealous; 

But  yet,  me  thinks,  I  feel  it  true  ; 

And  really  yours  is  budding,  too. 

Nay,  now  I  cannot  stir  my  foot, 

It  feels  as  if  'twere  taking  root !  " 

Description  would  but  tire  my  muse ; 
In  short  they  both  were  turned  to  yews ! 
Old  Goodman  Dobson,  of  the  green, 
Remembers  he  the  trees  has  seen. 
On  Sundays,  after  evening  prayer, 
He  gathers  all  the  parish  there ; 
Points  out  the  place  of  either  yew, 
"  Here  Baucis,  there  Philemon  grew, 
Till  once  a  parson  of  our  town, 
To  mend  his  barn,  cut  Baucis  down. 
At  which  'tis  hard  to  be  believed 
How  much  the  other  tree  was  grieved, 
Grew  scrubby,  died  a-top,  was  stunted ; 
So  the  next  parson  stubbed  and  burnt  it." 


124  WERNER'S  READINGS 

THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 


ALEXANDER   POPE. 


\  \J  HAT  dire  offence  from  amorous  causes  springs, 

*  »       What  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial  things  I 
Say,  what  strange  motive,  goddess,  could  compel 
A  well-bred  lord  t'  assault  a  gentle  belle  ? 

0  say,  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unexplored, 
Could  make  a  gentle  belle  reject  a  lord  ? 

Sol  through  white  curtains  shot  a  timorous  ray, 
And  oped  those  eyes  that  must  eclipse  the  day. 
Belinda  still  her  downy  pillow  prest ; 
Her  guardian  sylph  prolonged  the  balmy  rest. 
He  seemed  to  her  ear  his  winning  lips  to  lay, 
And  thus  in  whispers  said,  or  seemed  to  say : 
"  Fairest  of  mortals,  thou  distinguished  care 
Of  thousand  bright  inhabitants  of  air ! 
Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim, 
A  watchful  sprite,  and  Ariel  is  my  name. 
Late,  as  I  ranged  the  crystal  wilds  of  air, 
In  the  clear  mirror  of  thy  ruling  star 

1  saw,  alas !  some  dread  event  impend, 
Ere  to  the  main  this  morning  sun  descend. 

But  Heaven  reveals  not  what,  or  how,  or  where ; 
Warned  by  the  sylph,  0  pious  maid,  beware  ! 
This  to  disclose  is  all  thy  guardian  can ; 
Beware  of  all,  but  most  beware  of  man !  " 
He  said ;  when  Shock,  who  thought  she  slept  too  long, 
Leaped  up,  and  waked  his  mistress  with  his  tongue. 
*  *  *  *  * 

Fair  nymphs  and  well-dressed  youths  around  her  shone, 
But  every  eye  was  fixed  on  her  alone. 
Her  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose, 
Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfixed  as  those. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  125 


'avors  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends  ; 

>ft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 

►right  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike, 

.nd  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 

"et  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 

light  hide  her  faults,  if  belles  had  faults  to  hide ; 

I  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 
look  on  her  face  and  you'll  forget  them  all. 
'his  nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  mankind, 
[ourished  two  locks,  which  graceful  hung  behind 
:i  equal  curls  and  well  conspired  to  deck 

ftth  shining  ringlets  the  smooth,  ivory  neck. 
i0ve  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 
.nd  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 
'he  adventurous  baron  the  bright  locks  admired ; 
[e  saw,  he  wished,  and  to  the  prize  aspired, 
■esolved  to  win ;  sure,  if  success  his  toil  attends, 
ew  will  ask  if  fraud  or  force  attained  his  ends. 

n  silver  Thames  the  zephyrs  gently  play ; 
elinda  smiles,  and  all  the  world  is  gay — 

II  but  the  sylph— with  careful  thoughts  opprest, 
h'  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast. 

.e  summons  straight  his  denizens  of  air ; 

he  lucid  squadrons  round  the  sails  repair : 

Ye  sylphs  and  sylphids,  to  your  chief  give  ear  ! 

ays,  fairies,  genii,  elves  and  demons,  hear  ! 

e  know  the  spheres  and  various  tasks  assigned 

I  laws  eternal  to  the  aerial  kind. 

tiis  day  black  omens  threat  the  brightest  fair 

hat  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  spirit's  care ; 

>me  dire  disaster,  or  by  force  or  flight ; 

it  what  or  where  the  fates  have  wrapt  in  night. 

rhether  the  nymph  shall  break  Diana's  law, 

f  some  frail  china  jar  receive  a  flaw, 


126  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And,  shattered,  sprinkling  liquid,  stain  her  new  brocade ; 

Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  masquerade  ; 

Or  lose  her  heart  or  necklace  at  a  ball ; 

Or  whether  Heaven  has  doomed  that  Shock  must  fall. 

Haste,  then,  ye  spirits  !   to  your  charge  repair ; 

The  fluttering  fan  be  Zephyretta's  care ; 

The  drops  to  thee,  Brilliante,  we  consign ; 

And,  Momentilla,  let  the  watch  be  thine  ; 

Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  favorite  lock; 

Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock. 

Whatever  spirit,  careless  of  his  charge, 

His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  fair  at  large, 

Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o'ertake  his  sins. 

Be  stopped  in  vials,  or  transfixed  with  pins ; 

Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  washes  lie, 

Or  wedged  whole  ages  in  a  bodkin's  eye ; 

Gums  and  pomatums  shall  his  flight  restrain, 

While  clogged  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in  vain." 

He  spoke  ;  the  spirits  from  the  sails  descend, 

Some,  orb  in  orb,  around  the  nymph  extend ; 

Some  thrid  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair  ; 

Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  ear. 

With  beating  hearts  the  dire  event  they  wait, 

Anxious  and  trembling  at  the  birth  of  Fate. 

But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their  will, 

How  soon  they  find  fit  instruments  of  ill ! 

Just  then,  Clarissa  drew  with  tempting  grace 

A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case  : 

The  baron  takes  the  gift  with  reverence  and  extends 

The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  ends ; 

This  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread, 

As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her  head. 

Swift  to  the  lock  a  thousand  sprites  repair ; 

A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  127 

jid  thrice  they  twitched  the  diamonds  in  her  ear, 

trice  she  looked  back  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  near. 

'he  peer  now  spreads  the  glittering  forfex  wide, 

'o  enclose  the  lock  ;   now  joins  it  to  divide. 

1'en  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 

l  wretched  sylph  too  fondly  interposed. 

Ite  urged  the  shears  and  cut  the  sylph  in  twain 

But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again). 

Che  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever 

?rom  the  fair  head  forever  and  forever  ! 

rhen  flashed  the  living  lightning  from  her  eyes, 

ind  screams  of  horror  rend  the  affrighted  skies, 

is  fierce  Belinda  on  the  baron  flies  1 

■<  Restore  the  lock !  "  she  cries,  and  all  around, 

*  Restore  the  lock !  "  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 

rhe  lock,  obtained  with  guilt  and  kept  with  pain, 

En  every  place  is  sought,  but  sought  in  vain ; 

With  such  a  prize  no  mortal  must  be  blest, 

So  Heaven  decrees  !    With  Heaven  who  can  contest  ? 

Some  thought  it  mounted  to  the  lunar  sphere, 

Since  all  things  lost  on  earth  are  treasured  there. 

But  trust  the  Muse— she  saw  it  upward  rise, 

Though  marked  by  none  but  quick  poetic  eyes. 

A  sudden  star,  it  shot  through  liquid  air 

And  drew  behind  a  radiant  trail  of  hair. 

Then  cease,  bright  nymph  !  to  mourn  thy  ravished  hair 

Which  adds  new  glory  to  the  shining  sphere  ! 

Not  all  the  tresses  that  fair  head  can  boast 

Shall  draw  such  envy  as  the  lock  you  lost. 

This  lock  the  Muse  shall  consecrate  to  fame 

And  'midst  the  stars  inscribe  Belinda's  name. 


128  WERNER'S  READINGS 

BOADICEA. 


WILLIAM    COWPER. 


[Boadicea  was  Queen  of  the  Iceni,  a  British  tribe  inhabiting  what  are  nov 
the  counties  of  Cambridge,  Suffolk  and  Norfolk.  The  King,  her  husband 
having  died,  bequeathed  all  his  possessions  to  the  Emperor  Nero  and  his  twc 
daughters.  The  Roman  centurions,  however,  took  his  kingdom,  and  gave  hi< 
daughters  to  their  slaves,  while  Boadicea  was  publicly  scourged  for  some  rea 
or  imaginary  offence.  The  Roman  governor  being  absent,  eho  burst  into  Lou 
don  at  the  head  of  a  large  army,  burned  the  city  and  killed  thousands  of  the 
Romans  and  Roman  subjects.  The  Roman  governor  immediately  hurried 
home,  and  a  battle  was  fought  near  St.  Albans.  The  Britons,  although  they 
fought  valiantly  and  fiercely,  were  defeated  by  the  disciplined  Romans.  Boad- 
icea poisoned  herself,  A.  D.  62.] 

"\X7"HEN  the  British  warrior  Queen,  bleeding  from  the  Roman 

rods, 
Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien,  counsel  of  her  country's  gods; 
Sage  beneath  a  spreading  oak  sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief ; 
Every  burning  word  he  spoke,  full  of  rage  and  full  of  grief: 

"  Princess,  if  our  aged  eyes  weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
Tis  because  resentment  ties  all  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 
Rome  shall  perish — write  that  word  in  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt  ; 
Perish  hopeless  and  abhorred,  deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

"  Rome,  for  empire  far  renowned,  tramples  on  a  thousand  states ; 
Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground — hark  !  the  Gaul  is  at  her 

gates ! 
Other  Romans  shall  arise,  heedless  of  a  soldier's  name  ; 
Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize,  harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

"  Then  the  progeny  that  springs  from  the  forests  of  our  land, 
Armed  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings,  shall  a  wider  world  com- 
mand, 
Regions  Caesar  never  knew  thy  posterity  shall  sway ; 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew,  none  invincible  as  they." 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words,  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 
Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords  of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  129 

She,  with  all  a  monarch's  pride,  felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow ; 
Rushed  to  battle,  fought  and  died— dying,  hurled  them  at  the  foe  : 
<;  Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud !  Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due  ! 
Empire  is  on  us  bestowed,  shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you !  " 


MARY  STUART. 


JOHANN   CHRISTOPH   FRIEDRICH   VON   SCHILLER. 


f  Elizabeth  of  England. 

„  ,.1  Mart  of  Scotland. 

Dramatis   j  TT  ^ 

-l  Hannah  Kennedy. 

a  Earl  of  Leicester. 

^Earl  of  Shrewsbury. 
[Mary,  having-  abdicated  her  throne  after  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
retrieve  her  fortunes,  crossed  over  into  England  and  threw  herself  on  the  pro- 
tection of  Elizabeth,  but  was  made  a  prisoner  for  life.  After  being  removed 
from  prison  to  prison,  she  was  tried  at  last  on  a  charge  of  conspiracy  against 
the  life  of  Elizabeth,  and  sentenced  to  death.  In  the  hope  of  arresting  the 
execution  of  that  sentence,  Mary  solicited,  and  at  length  obtained,  permission 
for  an  interview  with  Elizabeth.  This  took  place  at  the  Castle  of  Fotherin- 
gay. The  scene  opens  on  the  arrival  of  Elizabeth  and  her  retinue  at  the 
Castle.] 

P  LIZABETH.     What  seat  is  that,  my  lord  ? 
Leicester.  'Tis  Fotheringay. 

Eliz.    [to  Shrewsbury].      My  lord,  send  back  our   retinue  to 
London. 
The  people  crowd  too  eager  in  the  roads ; 
We'll  seek  a  refuge  in  this  quiet  park. 
My  honest  people  love  me  overmuch ; 
Thus  should  a  G-od  be  honored,  not  a  mortal. 

Mary  [who  has  been  looking  at  Elizabeth], 
0  God !  from  out  those  features  speaks  no  heart ! 

Eliz.     What  lady's  that  ?     [Silence.] 

Leic.     You  are  at  Fotheringay,  my  liege  ! 

Eliz.    [as  if  surprised].     Who  hath  done  this,    my    Lord    of 
Leicester  ? 


130  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Leio.     'Tis  past,  my  Queen,  and  now  that  Heaven  hath  led 
Your  footsteps  hither,  be  magnanimous, 
And  let  sweet  pity  be  triumphant  now. 

Shrewsbury.     0  royal  mistress  !  yield  to  our  entreaties. 

0  cast  your  eyes  on  this  unhappy  one, 
Who  stands  disclosed  in  anguish. 

[Mary  collects  herself  and  advances  toward  Elizabeth,  hut  stops, 
shuddering.] 

Eliz,  How,  my  lords  ! 

Which  of  you,  then,  announced  to  me  a  prisoner 
Bowed  down  by  woe  ?     I  see  a  haughty  one, 
By  no  means  humbled  by  calamity. 

Mary.     Well,  be  it  so ;  to  this  will  I  submit. 
Farewell,  high  thought  and  pride  of  noble  mind ! 

1  will  forget  my  dignity  and  all 
My  sufferings ;  I  will  fall  before  her  feet, 
Who  hath  reduced  me  to  this  wretchedness. 
The  voice  of  Heaven  decides  for  you,  sister ; 
Your  happy  brows  are  now  with  triumph  crowned ; 
I  bless  the  power  divine  which  thus  hath  raised  you. 
[Kneels.]     But  in  your  turn  be  merciful,  my  sister ; 
Let  me  not  lie  before  you,  thus  disgraced ; 
Stretch  forth  your  hand,  your  royal  hand,  to  raise 
Your  sister  from  the  depths  of  her  distress. 

Eliz.     You  are  where  it  becomes  you,  Lady  Stuart, 
And  thankfully  I  prize  my  God's  protection, 
Who  hath  not  suffered  me  to  kneel  a  suppliant 
Thus  at  your  feet,  as  you  now  kneel  at  mine. 

Mary.     Oh,  there  are  gods  who  punish  wicked  pride; 
Respect  them,  honor  them,  the  dreadful  ones 
Who  thus  before  thy  feet  have  humbled  me ; 
Before  these  strangers'  eyes  dishonor  not 
Yourself  in  me ;  profane  not,  nor  disgrace 
The  royal  blood  of  Tudor.     In  my  veins 


AND  RECITATIONS.  131 

;t  flows  as  pure  a  stream  as  in  your  own. 

|) !  for  God's  pity,  stand  not  so  estranged  and  inaccessible. 

Eliz.     What  would  you  say  to  me,  my  Lady  Stuart  ? 
Xou  wished  to  speak  with  me,  and  I,  forgetting 
The  queen,  and  all  the  wrongs  I  have  sustained, 
Fulfil  the  pious  duty  of  the  sister, 
And  grant  the  boon  you  wished  for,  of  my  presence. 
Set  I,  in  yielding  to  the  generous  feelings 
If  magnanimity,  expose  myself  to  rightful  censure, 
That  I  stoop  so  low.     For  well  you  know 
You  would  have  had  me  murdered ! 

Mary.     0  !  how  shall  I  begin  ?     0  !  how  shall  I  find  words 
That  they  may  touch  yet  not  offend  your  heart  ? 
[  am  a  queen,  like  you,  yet  you  have  held  me 
Confined  in  prison.     As  a  suppliant 
[  come  to  you,  yet  you  in  me  insulted 
The  pious  use  of  hospitality. 
Slighting  in  me  the  holy  law  of  nations, 
[mmured  me  in  a  dungeon,  tore  from  me 
My  friends  and  servants  ;  to  unseemly  want 
[  was  exposed  and  hurried  to  the  bar 
Of  a  disgraceful,  insolent  tribunal. 
No  more  of  this  ;  in  everlasting  silence 
Be  buried  all  the  cruelties  I  suffered ! 
See,  I  will  lay  the  blame  of  all  on  fate ; 
Twas  not  your  fault,  no  more  than  it  was  mine  ; 
An  evil  spirit  rose  from  the  abyss, 
To  kindle  in  our  hearts  the  flames  of  hate, 
By  which  our  tender  youth  had  been  divided. 
It  grew  with  us,  and  bad,  designing  men 
Fanned  with  their  ready  breath  the  fatal  fire. 
|Now  stand  we  face  to  face.     Now,  sister,  speak; 
Name  but  my  crime,  I'll  fully  satisfy  you. 
Alas  !  had  you  vouchsafed  to  hear  me  then, 
When  I  so  earnest  sought  to  meet  your  eye, 
It  never  would  have  come  to  this,  nor  would, 


132  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Here  in  this  mournful  place,  have  happened  now 
This  so  distressful,  this  so  mournful  meeting. 

Eliz.     My  better  stars  preserved  me.     I  was  warned, 
And  laid  not  to  my  breast  the  poisonous  adder ! 
Accuse  not  fate  !     Your  own  deceitful  heart 
It  was,  the  wild  ambition  of  your  house. 
But  God  is  with  me,  and  the  haughty  foe 
Has  not  maintained  the  field.     The  blow  was  aimed 
Full  at  my  head,  but  yours  it  is  which  falls ! 

Mary.     I'm  in  the  hand  of  Heaven.     You  never  will 
Exert  so  cruelly  the  power  it  gives  you  ? 

Eliz.     Who  should  prevent  me  ?     Say,  did  your  uncle 
Set  all  the  kings  of  Europe  the  example, 
How  to  conclude  a  peace  with  those  they  hate  ? 
Force  is  my  only  surety  ;  no  alliance 
Can  be  concluded  with  a  race  of  vipers. 

Mary.     0  this  is  but  your  wretched,  dark  suspicion  ! 
For  you  have  constantly  regarded  me 
But  as  a  stranger  and  an  enemy. 
Had  you  declared  me  heir  to  your  dominions, 
As  is  my  right,  then  gratitude  and  love 
In  me  had  fixed  for  you  a  faithful  friend 
And  kinswoman. 

Eliz.     Your  friendship  is  abroad. 
Name  you  my  successor  !     The  treacherous  snare; 
That  in  my  life  you  might  seduce  my  people ; 
And,  like  a  sly  Armida,  in  your  net 
Entangle  all  our  noble  English  youth, 
That  all  might  turn  to  the  new  rising  sun, 
And  I— 

Mary.     0  sister,  'rule  your  realm  in  peace  ; 
I  give  up  every  claim  to  these  domains. 
Alas  !  the  pinions  of  my  soul  are  lamed ; 
G-reatness  entices  me  no  more  ;  your  point 


AND  RECITATIONS.  133 

Is  gained.     I  am  but  Mary's  shadow  now; 

My  noble  spirit  is  at  last  broke  down 

By  long  captivity.     You've  done  your  worst 

On  me :  you  have  destroyed  me  in  my  bloom ! 

Now  end  your  work,  my  sister ;  speak  at  length 

The  word,  which  to  pronounce  has  brought  you  hither; 

For  I  will  ne'er  believe  that  you  are  come 

To  mock  unfeelingly  your  hapless  victim. 

Pronounce  this  word  ;  say,  "  Mary,  you  are  free ; 

You  have  already  felt  my  power ;  learn  now 

To  honor,  too,  my  generosity." 

Say  this,  and  I  will  take  my  life,  will  take 

My  freedom,  as  a  present  from  your  hands. 

One  word  makes  all  undone  ;  I  wait  for  it. 

0  let  it  not  be  needlessly  delayed  ! 

Woe  to  you,  if  you  end  not  with  this  word  ! 

For  should  you  not,  like  some  divinity 

Dispensing  noble  blessings,  quit  me  now, 

Then,  sister,  not  for  all  this  island's  wealth, 

For  all  the  realms  encircled  by  the  deep, 

Would  I  exchange  my  present  lot  for  yours. 

Eliz.     And  you  confess  at  last  that  you  are  conquered  ? 
Are  all  your  schemes  run  out  ?     No  more  assassins 
Now  on  the  road  ?     Will  no  adventurer 
Attempt  again,  for  you,  the  sad  achievement  ? 
Yes,  Madam,  it  is  over.     You'll  seduce 
No  mortal  more.     The  world  has  other  cares ; 
None  is  ambitious  of  the  dangerous  honor 
Of  being  your  fourth  husband — you  destroy 
Your  wooers  like  your  husbands  ! 

Mary.  Sister,  sister! 

Grant  me  forbearance,  all  ye  powers  of  Heaven ! 

Eliz.     Those,  then,  my  Lord  of  Leicester,  are  the  charms 
Which  no  man  with  impunity  can  view, 
Near  which  no  woman  dare  attempt  to  stand  ! 
In  sooth,  this  honor  has  been  cheaply  gained. 


134  V/ERNERS  READINGS 

Mary.     This  is  too  much  ! 

Eliz.  You  show  us  now,  indeed, 

Your  real  face ;  till  now  'twas  but  the  mask. 

Mary.     My  sins  were  human,  and  the  faults  of  youth ; 
I  have  never  sought  to  hide  them.     I  despised 
All  false  appearance  as  became  a  queen. 
The  worst  of  me  is  known,  and  I  can  say 
That  I  am  better  than  the  fame  I  bear. 
Woe  to  you,  when,  in  time  to  come,  the  world 
Shall  draw  the  robe  of  honor  from  your  deeds. 
Virtue  was  not  your  portion  from  your  mother ; 
Well  know  we  what  it  was  which  brought  the  head 
Of  Anne  Boleyn  to  the  fatal  block. 

Shrews,   [stepping  between  them]. 
0  Heaven  !     Alas,  and  must  it  come  to  this  ? 
Is  this  the  moderation,  the  submission, 
My  Lady,  that  you  promised  ? 

Mary.     Moderation !     I've  supported 
What  human  nature  can  support !     Farewell, 
Lamb-hearted  resignation  !     Passive  patience, 
Fly  to  thy  native  Heaven  !     Burst  at  length 
Thy  bonds,  come  forward  from  thy  dreary  cave, 
In  all  thy  fury,  long-suppressed  rancor ! 
And  thou,  who  to  the  angered  basilisk 
Impart' st  the  murderous  glance,  0  arm  my  tongue 
With  poisoned  darts ! 

Serews.     She  is  beside  herself ! 

Lbic.     Attend  not  to  her  rage  !     Away,  away, 
From  this  disastrous  place  ! 

Mary.  A  bastard  soils, 

Profanes  the  English  throne  !     The  generous  Britons 
Are  cheated  by  a  juggler,  whose  whole  figure 
Is  false  and  painted,  heart  as  well  as  face. 
You  now  would  in  the  dust,  if  right  prevailed, 
Before  me  lie,  for  I'm  your  rightful  monarch  ! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  135 

[Elizabeth  hastily  quits  the  stage;   the  Lords  follow  in  conster- 
nation.] 

Kennedy.     What  have  you  done  ?     She  has  gone  hence  in  wrath  ? 
All  hope  is  over  now  ! 

Mary.     Gone  hence  in  wrath  ! 
She  carries  death  within  her  heart !     I  know  it. 

[Falls  on  Kennedy's  bosom.] 
Now  I  am  happy,  Hannah  !     At  last, 
After  whole  years  of  sorrow  and  abasement, 
One  moment  of  victorious  revenge  ! 
A  weight  falls  off  my  heart,  a  weight  of  mountains ; 
I  plunged  the  steel  in  my  oppressor's  breast ! 

Ken.     Unhappy  Lady,  frenzy  overcomes  you  : 
Yes,  you  have  wounded  your  invet'rate  foe ; 
"Lis  she  who  wields  the  lightning,  she  is  Queen  ! 
You  have  insulted  her  before  her  minion. 

Mary.     I  have  abased  her  before  Leicester's  eyes ; 

He  sawr  it,  he  was  witness  of  my  triumph  ! 

Yes,  I  did  hurl  her  from  her  haughty  height ! 

He  saw  it  and  his  presence  strengthened  me  ! 

[Exeunt.] 


HERMANN  AND  DOROTHEA. 


JOHANN    WOLFGANG   VON    GOETHE. 


"  XT  E'ER  have  I  seen  the  market  and  streets  so  empty  ! 

■^      Still  as  the  grave  is  the  town  !     All  are  running,  racing, 
To  see  the  sad  train  of  poor  fellows  driven  to  exile. 
Wife,  you  did  well  to  bid  our  son  go  meet  them, 
Taking  with  him  linen  and  something  to  eat  and  drink. 
The  rich  are  bound  to  befriend  the  poor. 
Hermann,  I  trust,  will  find  them,  and  give  them 
Clothing  and  refreshment ;  I  grieve  to  see  such  sorrow." 


136  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Straightway  into  the  room  the  son  made  entry, 

And  in  calm  accents  with  gravity  speaking : 

"  When  I  passed  the  gate  and  came  upon  the  highway, 

Streams  of  citizens  I  met  returning ;  I  quickened  my  pace, 

For  the  train  of  exiles  had  long  disappeared.     Hastily 

I  drove  to  the  village  where  I  had  heard  to  rest  and  sleep 

They  intended ;  as  I  went  on  my  way,  ascending 

The  newly-made  causeway,  suddenly  I  saw  a  wagon 

Drawn  by  oxen.     Close  beside  it  there  walked, 

With  sturdy  footsteps,  a  maiden  guiding  the  beasts 

With  a  staff  which  she  knew  how  with  skill  to  use, 

Now  driving,  now  restraining  their  progress. 

When  the  maiden  observed  me,  she  came  near  and  said  : 

'  Not  so  sad  is  our  lot  as  it  may  seem  to  thee, 

Nor  alms  would  we  ask  of  the  stranger ; 

But  have  you  linen  and  food  to  give  these  people 

In  their  distress  and  their  hunger  ? ' 

"  *  My  mother  sent  me  to  relieve  your  wants  and  help  the  needy.' 

With  joy  she  thanked  me  and  said  heartily : 

'  May  your  kindness  be  by  Heaven  requited.' 

On  then  she  drove  the  oxen.     I  followed, 

Overtook  the  maiden  and  said  to  her  quickly : 

'  Maiden,  my  mother  sent  not  linen  and  food  alone ; 

She  added  wine,  the  weak  to  refresh,  too ; 

I  will  put  this  in  your  care  to  divide  with  prudence.' 

She  replied  :  '  With  faithfulness  I  will  bestow  your  gifts, 

And  the  weak  and  the  weary  shall  rejoice  at  your  bounty.'  " 

When  Hermann  had  ended  his  story  the  neighbor 

Exclaimed  :  "  Only  deem  the  man  happy  who  lives  in  his  house 

In  these  days  of  flight  and  hardship  and  exile." 

"  Neighbor,"  rejoined  Hermann,  with  emphasis, 

"Altogether  I  differ.     Can  he  be  deemed  worthy 

Who  thinks  alone  of  self,  and  knows  not  the  secret 

Of  sharing  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  others  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  137 

Many  an  excellent  maiden  needs  a  husband's  protection 
ind  many  a  man  a  cheerful  wife  his  home  to  enliven." 

Smilingly  said  the  father  :   "  Words  of  such  wisdom  in  my  presence 
Save  seldom  been  uttered  by  youth."     Then  spake  the  mother  : 

Son,  we  set  the  example ;  not  in  times  of  mirth  and  of  pleasure 
Made  we  our  choice  of  each  other.     The  saddest  of  hours 
Knitted  us  closely  together."     "And,  my  Hermann,  you  would  cheer 
3ur  old  age,"  said  the  father,  "  if  you  bring  us  a  daughter. 
Bring  home  one  of  the  girls  of  the  neighborhood, 
is  I  brought  your  mother  before  you." 

Modestly  answered  the  son  :  "  Truly  my  wish  was  like  yours, 
To  marry  a  neighbor's  daughter  ;  one  whom,  in  fact, 

sported  with  in  youthful  days.     But  I  have  found  them 
^ain  and  unloving,  unlike  the  Eve  of  Adam." 
'  Little  comfort  you  give  me,  son.     I  always  have  said 
STou  possess  not  a  due  sense  of  honor."     The  son  arose 
ind  approached  the  doorway  in  silence.     After  him  shouted  the 

father : 
I  Be  off !     Go  and  look  after  the  business  !     But  fancy  not 
fhat  I'll  ever  allow  you  to  bring  home  in  triumph, 
is  my  daughter-in-law,  an  impudent  stranger. 
Long  have  I  lived  in  the  world ;  and  she  whom  you  marry 
Must  be  able  to  soften  my  cares  and  vexations  "     At  these  words, 
Softly  the  son  raised  the  latch  and  left  the  apartment. 

Forthwith  to  the  husband  spake  then  the  mother : 

j  Father,  you're  unjust  to  speak  thus  to  our  son. 

We  cannot  fashion  our  children  after  our  own  fancy ; 

We  must  bring  them  up  for  the  best,  but  let  each  do  as  he  listeth. 

My  Hermann  shall  not  be  upbraided.     You  daily 

Dishearten  him,  and  make  the  poor  fellow  unhappy 

[Then  after  her  son  she  hastened,  hoping  with  words  of  affection 
o  gladden  his  heart,  for  well  he  deserved  it. 
he  searched  for  her  son  till  she  found  him  at  last 
nder  the  shade  of  a  tree,  perched  on  the  top  of  a  hill. 


138  WERNER'S  READINGS 

'Neath  its  shadow  the  herdsman  was  wont  to  lie 

When  tending  the  cattle ;  benches  made  of  rough  stones 

And  of  turf  were  placed  all  about  it. 

And  there  Hermann  sat,  his  head  on  his  arm, 

And  seemed  looking  toward  the  mountains  beyond. 

Softly  creeping  up,  she  tapped  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

When  he  turned,  she  saw  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  in  confusion,  "  why  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  My  son,  tell  me  what  has  saddened  your  heart  ? 

You  are  weeping — what  is  it  that  makes  you  unhappy  ?  " 

Then  he  answered  :   "  Truly,  that  man  can  have  no  heart 

Who  has  no  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  exiles. 

What  I  to-day  have  seen  and  heard  has  stirred  my  heart ; 

And  though  I  am  an  only  son,  I  deeply  regret 

I  am  not  among  those  who  are  fighting  for  them. 

I  long  to  live  and  die  for  my  country,  and,  dying, 

Set  an  example  worthy  for  others  to  follow. 

But  leave  me  now,  mother ;  for  as  in  my  bosom  I  cherish 

Wishes  that  are  but  vain,  my  life  will  be  to  no  purpose." 

"  But  tell  me,  my  son,  all  that  has  happened, 

The  least  as  well  as  the  greatest." 

Then  the  youth  gave  way  to  his  sorrow,  replying  : 

"  My  father's  words  to-day  have  wounded  me  sadly, 

For  I  have  always  meant  to  honor  my  parents. 

None  ever  appeared  to  me  so  prudent  and  wise, 

Who  in  the  days  of  childhood  so  carefully  guided  and  watched  me 

Whose  only  thought  was  for  my  sake  to  swell  their  possessions. 

I  look  down  from  this  height  and  see  how  beautiful 

Lies  the  rich  expanse  of  vineyard  and  gardens ; 

Then  I  descry  the  gables  and  roof  of  our  house. 

Yet  lonely  do  all  things  appear,  the  court  and  the  garden, 

The  beautiful  field  which  spreads  over  the  hillside ; 

Yet  a  desert  it  seems,  as  there  is  none  to  share  in  its  beauty." 

"Why  not,  then,  my  son,  do  as  your  father  and  mother 
Have  urged — choose  some  fair  maiden.    Answer  me  plainly, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  139 

or  my  spirit  tells  me  your  choice  already  is  made ; 

know  full  well  'tis  that  poor  emigrant  maiden." 

It  is  even  as  you  say,  d.ear  mother ;  yes,  it  is  she. 

ut  unless  soon  as  my  bride  I  should  claim  her 

ae  will  go  on  her  way  and  escape  me  forever 

1  the  confusion  of  war  and  the  sad  life  of  the  exile. 

herefore,  let  me  go  hence,  for  my  father  has  said 

~\s>  house  no  longer  is  mine,  if  he  shuts  out 

he  maiden  I  would  fain  take  as  my  bride." 

If  she  is  worthy  and  good,  my  son,  your  father, 

feel  sure,  will  give  his  consent  to  your  marriage. 

[en  are  like  rocks  when  they  stand  opposite  each  other, 

roud  and  unyielding ;  but  your  father  requires 

nly  kind  words  of  persuasion,  and,  perhaps,  the  help 

f  our  excellent  pastor.     Come,  we  will  venture  at  once." 

he  three  were  still  sitting  and  talking  together, 
he  landlord,  the  worthy  divine,  and  the  druggist. 
You  should,"  said  the  excellent  pastor,  "  bless  your  son's  dispo- 
sition, 
o  peaceful,  and  the  like-mind.ed  maiden  he  wishes  to  marry." 
hus  he  spoke.     At  that,  mother  and  son  stood  before  them. 
Father,"  she  said,  "  how  often  have  we,  when  talking  together, 
poke  of  the  joyful  day  in  the  future  when  Hermann, 
iter  long  waiting,  selecting  his  bride,  would  make  us  both  happy ; 
low  the  day  has  arrived ;  his  heart  has  at  length  decided, 
Lnd  now  he  has  chosen,  with  heartfelt  emotion, 
he  fair  maiden,  the  stranger  among  the  exiles. 
[ive  her  him  ;  else  life  will  be  to  our  son  not  worth  the  living." 
Lnd  said  the  son :    "  My  father,    she'll  make   you  an  excellent 

daughter." 
'he   father   replies:  "Strangely,  indeed,  has   your   tongue   been 

loosened, 
see  how  the  will  of  a  son  and  a  too  gentle  mother, 
nd  neighbors  all  too  ready  to  forward  thy  suit, — 
Cow  useless  'twill  be  to  resist  so  many  together ; 


140  WERNER'S  READINGS 

For  I  see  I  must  yield,  else  defiance  will  greet  me. 

Go,  then,  and  bring  the  maiden  home  as  my  daughter." 

The  son  exclaimed,  with  jubilant  gesture  : 

w  Ere  evening  arrives  you  will  have  the  dearest  of  daughters, 

Such  as  the  man  desires  whose  bosom  is  governed  by  prudence. 

But  I  will  loiter  no  longer ;  I'll  straightway  harness  the  horses." 

Then  seized  the  whip  and  took  his  seat  in  the  carriage, 

Not  delaying  a  moment,  but  galloping  uphill  and  downhill. 

As  the  man  on  a  journey  who,  just  at  sunset, 

Fixes  his  gaze  once  more  on  the  vanishing  planet, 

Then  on  the  rocks,  and  in  the  dark  thicket  still  sees 

Hov'ring  its  image,  so,  before  Hermann's  eyes, 

Did  the  beautiful  form  of  the  maiden  softly  move, 

And  appeared  to  follow  the  path  through  the  cornfields. 

But  he  roused  himself  from  his  dream,  and  toward  the  village 

Turned  his  steps,  and  started  ;  for  once  more 

Saw  he  her  stately  figure  approaching. 

It  was  no  phantom ;  in  truth,  'twas  she  herself. 

In  her  hands  she  carried  two  pitchers  —  one  larger, 

One  smaller, —  and  nimbly  walked  to  the  fountain. 

The  sight  gave  him  courage  and  strength, 

And  he  said :  "  I  find  you  again,  dearest  maiden, 

Giving  refreshment  to  those  who  need  it. 

Tell  me  why  you  have  come  alone  to  the  spring, 

While  the  rest  are  content  with  water  found  in  the  village. 

Is't  for  the  sick  you  saved  with  such  courage  ?  " 

Saluting  the  youth  in  friendly  fashion, 

Said  the  maiden  :  "  My  walk  to  the  fountain  is  fully  rewarded, 

Since  I  have  found  our  kind  benefactor. 

Come  and  see  for  yourself  the  good  you  have  done, 

And  receive  the  thanks  of  those  your  kindness  has  blessed." 

Soon  with  her  companion  she  arrived  at  the  steps, 

And  both  sat  them  down  on  the  low  wall. 

She  bent  herself  over  to  draw  out  the  water ; 

He  took  also  the  pitcher  and  bent  over  the  wall ; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  141 

And  in  the  blue  of  the  heavens  they  saw  themselves  reflected, 
Waving  and  nodding,  and  greetings  exchanging. 
"  Now  let  me  drink,"  exclaimed  the  youth  in  accents  of  gladness ; 
And  she  gave  him  the  pitcher.     Then  like  old  friends  sat  they 

together. 
|  Pray,  how  came  you  hither  far  from  the  place  where  first  I  saw 

you? 
Hermann  gazed  on  the  ground,  but  presently  lifted 
Toward  her  his  glances :  "  For  your  sake  alone  I  have  come  — 
Why  seek  to  conceal  it  ?     Long  has  my  mother  been  wanting  a 

maiden 
To  assist  in  household  affairs  in  the  place  of  the  daughter  she  lost." 
I  Hesitate  not,  but  tell  me  the  rest  of  your  story ;  speak  boldly,  I 

pray: 
You  fain  would  have  me  now,  as  maid  to  your  mother  and  father, 
To  look  after  the  house  and  help  keep  it  in  excellent  order? 
Your  proposal  was  short  and  short  shall  be  my  answer  — 
Yes,  with  you  I  will  go,  and  the  voice  of  my  destiny  follow. 
Yes,  with  you  I  will  go  as  soon  as  I've  taken  the  pitcher 
Back  to  my  friends  and  received  from  them  their  blessing." 

;Joyfully  heard  the  youth  the  maiden's  decision, 

Yet  doubting  whether  'twere  best  he  should  tell  her 

The  whole  truth,  or  let  her  remain  in  error, 

iTill  safe  in  his  home  ;  then  for  her  love  to  entreat  her. 

Reaching  her  friends  thus  spake  the  maiden  : 

"  For  the  last  time  I  have  filled  for  you  the  pitcher, 

,And  lifting,  moistened  your  lips  with  pure  water. 

Here  stands  the  youth  for  whose  gifts  we're  indebted ; 

He  has  come  and  desires  to  his  home  I  should  go  with  him 

As  a  maid  to  his  rich  and  excellent  mother  and  father. 

So  I  willingly  go  with  him,  as  to  serve  seems  my  vocation." 

Hermann  took  her  hand,  and  followed  by  many  he  whispered: 

"  The  home  is  provided  ;  let  us  go,  as  the  day  is  declining." 

Then  the  women  with  loving  expressions  embraced  her, 

And  the  children  scarce  would  release  her,  till  Hermann 


142  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Took  her  from  them,  their  second  fond,  affectionate  mother, 
While  they  watched  her  departure  with  tears  and  distant-signalling 
handkerchiefs. 

So  toward  the  sun,  now  fast  sinking  to  rest,  they  walked, 
Till  they  reached  the  vineyard  and  garden  of  his  home. 
Then  spake  he  :  "  That  is  our  home  which  you  now  see, 
And  that  window  yonder  belongs  to  my  room  in  the  attic  ; 
All  these  fields  are  ours  which  are  ripe  for  the  harvest." 

"What  now  has  been  passing  in  the  heart  of  the  mother  ? 
She  had  watched  the  approaching  storm  anxiously 
Concerned  for  her  son's  long  absence  and  all  the  perils  night  brings. 
"  Make  the  worst  of  the  mischief,"  said  the  father.     But  the  neigh- 
bor said  naught. 
The  door  was  opened  and  there  appeared  the  youth  and  maiden, 
Who  crossed  the  threshold  together  and  approached  the  parents. 
"  Welcome  the  maiden  kindly,"  said  Hermann, "  for  she  is  worthy." 
Then  to  the  pastor :  "I  entreat  you,  help  me,  for  I  fear  she  will 

depart 
In  anger  if  I  speak  of  marriage,  for  I  have  not  ventured 
To  woo  as  my  bride  the  maiden ;  but  she  must  remain  in  error 
No  longer."     The  pastor  turned  to  the  guests  there  assembled. 
But  the  father  had  already  troubled  the  heart  of  the  maiden 
By  saying  good-humor'dly,  "  I  see  my  son  has  as  good  taste 
As  his  father,  taking  the  fairest  one  home  as  his  wife  !  " 
Hermann  heard  the  words,  and  inwardly  quivered, 
While  Dorothea  said :   "  My  lot  is  far  removed  from  that  of  your 

son ; 
Is  it  generous  thus  to  greet  me  with  language  so  jeering, 
Which  has  nigh  expelled  me  the  house  when  on  the  threshold  ? 
Let  me  depart  forthwith  !     I  must  hence  and  away, 
And  seek  once  more  my  poor  friends  and  share  their  fortunes. 
I  shall  cherish  the  memory  of  the  youth  whom  I  met  first 
At  the  well.     He  seemed  an  angel  descending  from  Heaven, 
And  I  followed  him  willingly  when  he  sought  me ; 


AND  RECITATIONS.  143 

But  now  the  rolling  thunder  I  hear  shall  not  stop  me, 

JNor  the  falling  rain  which  is  descending  in  torrents. 

&o  farewell !  "     And  toward  the  door  she  turned. 

But  the  mother  seized  her  hands  and  cried  : 

"Why,  what  mean  those  tears  ?  You  are  surely  my  son's  betrothed." 

But  the  father  said  :  "  There's  nothing  I  hate  so  much  as  tears  of  a 

woman ; 

Matters  must  shift  for  themselves,"  and  turned  to  his  chamber. 
Then  said  Hermann :  "  Shed  not  tears,  dear  one. 
I  came  not  to  the  fountain  to  seek  you  for  father  or  mother, 
But  to  win  your  affections,  and  offer  a  heart's  faithful  devotion." 
The  maiden  through  her  tears  smiled  with  heartfelt  emotion. 

Then  the  pastor  took  from  the  father  his  wedding-ring, 
And  the  mother's,  and  betrothed  the  two  children, 
Saying :  "I  now  betroth  you  and  wish  you  all  blessings, 
With  the  parents'  consent,  and  our  friend  here  as  witness ; " 
And  then  added  his  fatherly  benediction. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  CORINTH. 


GEORGE  GORDON  NOEL  BYRON. 


/^\N  dun  Cithaeron's  ridge  appears 
^^^     The  gleam  of  twice  ten  thousand  spears  ; 
The  trench  is  dug,  the  cannon's  breath 
Wings  the  far  hissing  globe  of  death. 

The  walls  grew  weak  ;   and  fast  and  hot, 
Against  them  poured  the  ceaseless  shot ; 
And  as  the  fabric  sank  beneath 
The  shattering  shells'  volcanic  breath, 

In  red  and  wreathing  columns  flashed 
The  flame,  as  loud  the  ruin  crashed. 
But  near  and  nearest  to  the  wall, 
Of  those  who  wish  and  work  its  fall, 


144  WERNERS  READINGS 

With  lance  to  wield  and  bickering  blade, 
Was  Alp,  the  Adrian  renegade. 
From  Venice  —  once  a  race  of  worth 
His  gentle  sires,  — he  drew  his  birth ; 

But  late  an  exile  from  her  shore, 
Against  his  countrymen  he  bore 
The  arms  they  taught  to  bear ;  and  now 
The  turban  girt  his  shaven  brow. 

Through  many  a  change  had  Corinth  passed 
With  Greece  to  Venice'  rule  at  last ; 
And  here,  before  her  walls,  with  those 
To  Greece  and  Venice  equal  foes, 

He  stood,  a  foe,  with  all  the  zeal 
Which  young  and  fiery  converts  feel. 
To  him  had  Venice  ceased  to  be 
Her  ancient  civic  boast — "  The  Free  !  " 

And  in  the  palace  of  St.  Mark, 
Unnamed  accusers  in  the  dark, 
Within  the  "  Lion's  mouth"  had  placed 
A  charge  against  him  uneffaced. 

He  fled  in  time,  and  saved  his  life, 
To  waste  his  future  years  in  strife. 
But  not  for  vengeance,  long  delayed, 
Alone  fought  Alp,  the  renegade. 

Within  these  walls  a  maid  was  pent, 
His  hope  would  win  without  consent 
Of  that  inexorable  sire, 
Whose  heart  refused  him  in  its  ire. 

And  many  deemed  her  heart  was  won ; 
For,  sought  by  numbers,  given  to  none, 
Had  young  Francesca's  hand  remained, 
Still  by  the  church's  bonds  unchained. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  145 

'Tis  midnight ;  on  the  mountains  brown, 
The  cold,  round  moon  shone  deej)ly  down. 
The  tent  of  Alp  was  on  the  shore, 
The  sound  was  hushed,  the  prayer  was  o'er. 

'Tis  but  another  anxious  night, 
His  pains  the  morrow  may  requite 
With  all  revenge  and  love  can  pay 
In  guerdon  for  their  long  delay. 

He  could  not  rest,  he  could  not  stay 
Within  his  tent  to  wait  for  day ; 
But  walked  him  forth  along  the  sand, 
Where  thousand  sleepers  strewed  the  strand. 

He  sate  him  down  at  a  pillar's  base, 
And  passed  his  hand  athwart  his  face  ; 
He  felt  not  a  breath  come  over  his  cheek ; 
What  did  that  sudden  sound  bespeak  ? 

Was  it  the  wind  through  some  hollow  stone 
Sent  that  soft  and  tender  moan  ? 
He  turned  to  the  left  —  is  he  sure  of  sight  ? 
There  sate  a  lady,,  youthful  and  bright ! 

He  gazed ;  he  saw ;  he  knew  the  face 

Of  beauty  and  the  form  of  grace. 

It  was  Francesca  by  his  side, — 

The  maid  who  might  have  been  his  bride. 

"  I  come  from  my  rest  to  him  I  love  best, 
That  I  may  be  happy  and  he  may  be  blessed. 
I  come,  and  if  I  come  in  vain, 
Never,  oh,  never,  we  meet  again ! 

"  Thou  hast  done  a  fearful  deed, 
In  falling  away  from  thy  father's  creed ; 
But  dash  that  turban  to  earth  and  sign 
The  form  of  the  cross,  and  forever  be  mine. 


146  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"  If  not,  thou  art  lost ;  and  never  shalt  see 
Not  earth  —  that's  past  —  but  Heaven,  or  me. 
There  is  a  light  cloud  by  the  moon — 
Tis  passing,  and  will  pass  full  soon ; 

"If  by  the  time  its  vapory  sail 
Hath  ceased  her  shaded  orb  to  veil, 
Thy  heart  within  thee  is  not  changed, 
Then  God  and  man  are  both  avenged. 

"  Dark  will  thy  doom  be,  darker  still 
Thine  immortality  of  ill." 
Alp  looked  to  Heaven  and  saw  on  high 
The  sign  she  spake  of  in  the  sky. 

But  his  heart  was  swollen  and  turned  aside 

By  deep,  interminable  pride. 

He  sue  for  mercy  !     He  dismayed 

By  wild  words  of  a  timid  maid  ! 

He,  wronged  by  Venice,  vow  to  save 
Her  sons  devoted  to  the  grave  ? 
No !  though  that  cloud  were  thunder's  worst, 
And  charged  to  crush  him  —  let  it  burst ! 

He  watched  it  passing  —  it  is  flown ! 
Full  on  his  eye  the  clear  moon  shone, 
And  thus  he  spake  :  "  Whate'er  my  fate, 
I  am  no  changeling ;  'tis  too  late  ! 

"  What  Venice  made  me  I  must  be, 
Her  foe  in  all — save  love  to  thee. 
But  thou  art  safe  ;  oh,  fly  with  me  !  " 

He  turned,  but  she  is  gone  ! 

Nothing  is  there  but  the  column  stone. 

Hath  she  sunk  in  the  earth,  or  melted  in  air  ? 

He  saw  not  —  he  knew  not  —  but  nothing  is  there. 


AND  RECITATIONS  147 

The  night  is  past,  and  shines  the  sun 

As  if  that  day  were  a  jocund  one. 

Hark,  to  the  trump  and  the  drum, 

And  the  clash,  and  the  shout,  "  They  come  !  they  come  !  " 

"  Mount  ye,  spur  ye,  skirr  the  plain, 
That  the  fugitive  may  flee  in  vain  !  " 
Forms  in  his  phalanx,  each  Janizar, 
Alp  at  their  head,  his  right  arm  bare. 

"  When  the  culverin's  signal  is  fired,  then  on, 
Leave  not  in  Corinth  a  living  one  !  " 
The  reply  was  the  shouts  of  fierce  thousands  in  ire; 
Silence  —  hark  to  the  signal-fire  ! 

Thus  at  length,  outbreathed  and  worn, 
Corinth's  sons  were  downward  borne 
By  the  long  and  oft  renewed 
Charge  of  the  Moslem  multitude. 

But  on  a  spot  where  vantage  ground 
Against  the  foe  may  still  be  found, 
Minotti  stood,  and  the  foes  kept  at  bay 
Outnumbered  his  hairs  of  silver  gray. 

Hark  to  the  Allah  shout  !     A  band 
Of  the  Mussulmans,  bravest  and  best,  is  at  hand; 
Their  leader,  with  arm  bared,  waves  them  on, 
Thus  in  the  fight  is  Alp  ever  known. 

Still  the  old  man  stood  erect, 
And  Alp's  career  a  moment  checked  : 
"  Yield  thee,  Minotti  !   quarter  take, 
For  thine  own,  thy  daughter's  sake." 

"  Never,  renegado,  never  ! 

Though  the  life  of  thy  gift  would  last  forever !  " 

"  Francesca  !     Oh,  my  promised  bride 

Must  she,  too,  perish  by  thy  pride  ?  " 


148  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"  She  is  safe."     "  Where,  where  ?  "     "  In  Heaven, 
From  whence  thy  traitor  soul  is  driven, 
Far  from  thee,  and  undefiled  !  " 
Grimly  then  Minotti  smiled, 

As  he  saw  Alp  staggering  bow 

Before  his  words  as  with  a  blow. 

"  0  God  !     When  died  she  ?  "     "  Yesternight; 

Nor  weep  I  for  her  spirit's  flight. 

"  None  of  my  pure  race  shall  be 
Slaves  to  Mahomet  and  thee. 
Come  on  !  "     That  challenge  is  in  vain — 
Alp's  already  with  the  slain. 

While  Minotti's  words  were  wreaking 
More  revenge  in  bitter  speaking, 
A  shot  pierced  the  brain  of  the  infidel, 
Round  he  spun,  and  down  he  fell, 

Without  a  hope  from  mercy's  aid ; 
To  the  last  —  a  renegade. 
Fearfully  the  yell  arose 
Of  his  followers  and  his  foes. 

Then  again  in  conflict  mixing, 
Clashing  swords  and  spears  transfixing, 
Now  the  Othmans  gain  the  gate, 
Still  resists  its  iron  weight. 

But  the  portal  wavering  grows  and  weak — 
The  iron  yields,  the  hinges  creak ; 
It  bends — it  falls — and  all  is  o'er ; 
Lost  Corinth  may  resist  no  more. 

Darkly,  sternly,  and  all  alone, 

Minotti  stood  o'er  the  altar-stone, 

And  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  with  a  sigh 

Then  seized  a  torch  which  blazed  thereby, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  149 

And  still  he  stood,  while,  with  steel  and  flame, 
Inward  and  onward  the  Mussulmans  came ! 
On  the  altar  table  they  behold 
The  cup  of  consecrated  gold, 
Massy  and  deep,  a  glittering  prize, 
Brightly  it  sparkles  to  plunderers'  eyes. 

So  near  they  came,  the  nearest  stretched 
To  grasp  the  spoil  he  almost  reached, 

When  old  Minotti's  hand 
Touched  with  the  torch  the  train  — 

'Tis  tired  ! 
Spire,  vaults,  shrine,  spoil,  the  slain, 

The  turbaned  victors,  the  Christian  band, 
All  that  of  living  or  dead  remain, 
Hurled  on  high  with  the  shivered  fane 
In  one  wild  roar  expired  ! 


ISABELLA,  OR  THE  POT  OF  BASIL. 


JOHN    KEATS. 


[Holman  Hunt  has  made  this  poem  the  subject  of  a  painting  ;  he  represents 
,n  interior  with  Isabella  in  listening  attitude,  leaning  over  a  pot  of  Basil.] 

r^AIR  Isabella  with  her  two  brothers  dwelt, 
*-        Enriched  from  ancestral  merchandise, 
V.nd  for  them  many  a  weary  hand  did  swelt 
In  torched  mines  and  noisy  factories ; 

These  brethren  having  found  by  many  signs 

What  love  Lorenzo  for  their  sister  had. 
\.nd  how  she  loved  him  too,  each  unconfines 

His  bitter  thoughts  to  other,  wellnigh  mad 
Fhat  he,  the  servant  of  their  trade  designs, 

Should  in  their  sister's  love  be  blithe  and  glad, 
When  'twas  their  plan  to  coax  her,  by  degrees, 
To  some  high  noble  and  his  olive-trees. 


150  WERNERS  READINGS 

And  many  a  jealous  conference  had  they, 

And  many  times  they  bit  their  lips  alone, 
Before  they  fixed  upon  the  surest  way 

To  make  the  youngster  for  his  crime  atone ; 
At  last  they  thought  to  seek  some  forest  dim, 
Then  kill  Lorenzo  and  there  bury  him. 

So  on  a  pleasant  morning  as  he  leant 
Into  the  sunrise  o'er  the  balustrade 
Of  the  garden-terrace,  they  to  him  said : 

"  You  seem,  Lorenzo,  in  the  quiet  of  content; 

"But  bestride  your  steed,  to-day  we  mount, 

To  spur  three  leagues  toward  the  Apennine ; 
Come  down,  we  pray  thee,  ere  the  hot  sun  count 

His  dewy  rosary  on  the  eglantine." 
Lorenzo  bowed,  and  to  the  courtyard  passed  alone, 

Each  third  step  did  he  pause,  and  listened  oft 
If  he  could  hear  his  lady's  matin-song, 

Or  the  light  whisper  of  her  footstep  soft ; 
He  heard  a  laugh,  and,  looking  up,  saw  her  features  bright 
Smile  through  an  in-door  lattice,  with  delight. 

"  Loved  Isabel ! "  said  he,  "  I  was  in  pain 

Lest  I  should  miss  to  bid  thee  a  good  morrow, 

Ah  !     What  if  I  should  lose  thee,  when  so  fain 
I  am  to  stifle  all  the  heavy  sorrow 

Of  a  poor  three  hours'  absence  ?     But  we'll  gain 
Out  of  the  amorous  dark  what  day  doth  borrow ; 

Good-bye  !     I'll  soon  be  back."    "  Good-bye,"  said  she, 

And  as  he  went  she  chanted  merrily. 

So  the  two  brothers  and  their  doomed  man 

Rode  past  fair  Florence  to  where  Arno's  stream, 

With  dancing  bulrush  itself  doth  gently  fan ; 
Wan  the  brothers'  faces  in  the  ford  did  seem, 

Lorenzo's  flushed  with  love.     They  passed  the  water, 

Into  a  forest  quiet  for  the  slaughter. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  151 

There  was  Lorenzo  slain  !     Pat  on  thy  widow's  bands, 

Poor  girl !  and  fly  from  these  accursed  lands ; 
To-day  thou  wilt  not  see  him,  nor  to-morrow, 
And  the  next  day  will  be  a  day  of  sorrow, 

Because  Lorenzo  comes  not.     Oftentimes 

She  asked  her  brothers  with  an  eye  all  pale, 
Striving  to  be  itself,  what  dungeon  climes 

Could  keep  him  off  so  long  ?     They  told  a  tale 
To  check  her  fears,  how  with  sudden  speed, 

Lorenzo  had  ta'en  ship  for  foreign  lands, 
Because  of  some  great  urgency  and  need 

In  their  aifairs,  requiring  trusty  hands  ; 
iAnd  she  had  died  in  utter  ignorance, 
But  for  a  thing  that  came  as  'twere  by  chance. 

It  was  a  vision.     In  the  midnight  gloom, 

Lorenzo  stood  at  her  couch's  foot,  his  eyes  were  bright 
With  love,  and  they  kept  all  fear  of  the  tomb 

From  Isabel  by  magic  of  their  light, 
The  while  he  said :  "  Isabel,  my  sweet ! 

Red  whortle-berries  droop  above  my  head, 
And  a  large  flint-stone  weighs  upon  my  feet ; 

Around  me  beeches  and  high  chestnuts  shed 
Their  leaves  and  prickly  nuts ;  a  sheep-fold  bleat 

Comes  from  beyond  the  river  to  my  bed. 
Go,  shed  one  tear  upon  my  heather-bloom, 
And  it  shall  comfort  me  within  the  tomb. 

"  Adieu."     With  morn  Isabel  had  devised 

How  she  might  secret  to  the  forest  hie, 
How  she  might  find  the  clay  so  dearly  prized, 

And  sing  to  it  one  latest  lullaby  ; 
How  her  short  absence  might  be  unsurmised, 

While  she  the  inmost  of  the  dream  would  try. 
Resolved,  she  took  with  her  an  aged  nurse, 
And  went  into  that  dismal  forest  hearse. 


152  WERNERS  READINGS 

See,  as  they  creep  along  the  river-side, 
How  she  doth  whisper  to  that  aged  dame, 

And,  after  looking  round  the  campaign  wide, 

Shows  her  a  knife.     "What  feverous,  hectic  flame 

Burns  in  thee,  child  ?     What  good  can  thee  betide, 
That  thou  shouldst  smile  again  ?  "     The  evening  came, 

And  they  had  found  Lorenzo's  earthy  bed ; 

The  flint  was  there,  the  berries  at  his  head. 

She  gazed  into  the  fresh-thrown  mould,  then  began 

To  dig  more  fervently  than  misers  can. 
The  old  nurse  stood  beside  her  wondering, 

Until  her  heart  felt  pity  to  the  core, 
And  so  she  put  her  lean  hands  to  the  horrid  thing, 

As  she  knelt  by  it  with  her  locks  all  hoar ; 
But  ah,  it  was  no  formless  monster's  head 

They  cut  away.     Pale  Isabel  low  moaned, 
And  kissed  it.     'Twas  Lorenzo,  cold  and  dead, 

Dead,  indeed,  gentle  love,  but  not  dethroned. 

In  anxious  secrecy  they  took  it  home, 

And  then  the  prize  was  all  for  Isabel  j 
She  calmed  its  wild  hair  with  a  golden  comb, 

Pointed  the  lash  o'er  each  eye's  sepulchral  cell ; 
Then  in  a  silken  scarf,  sweet  with  the  dews 

Of  precious  flowers  plucked  in  Araby, 
She  wrapped  it  up ;   and  for  its  tomb  did  choose 

A  garden  spot,  wherein  she  laid  it  by, 
And  covered  it  with  mould,  and  o'er  it  set 
Sweet  Basil,  which  her  tears  kept  ever  wet. 

Her  kindred  and  her  brethren  pondered  much 
Why  she  sat  drooping  by  the  Basil  green, 

And  why  it  flourished,  as  by  magic  touch ; 

Greatly  they  wondered  what  the  thing  might  mean ; 

They  could  not  surely  give  belief,  that  such 
A  very  nothing  would  have  power  to  wean 


AND  RECITATIONS.  15; 

Her  from  her  own  fair  youth,  and  pleasures  gay, 
And  even  remembrance  of  her  love's  delay. 

Therefore  they  watched  a  time  when  they  might  sift 

This  hidden  whim ;  and  long  they  watched  in  vain ; 
For  seldom  did  she  go  to  chapel  shrift, 

And  seldom  felt  she  any  hunger  pain ; 
Yet  they  contrived  to  steal  the  Basil  pot, 

And  to  examine  it  in  secret  place ; 
The  thing  was  vile  with  green  and  livid  spot, 

And  yet  they  knew  it  was  Lorenzo's  face, 
And  so  they  left  Florence.     Away  they  went, 
With  blood  upon  their  heads  to  banishment. 

Piteous  looked  Isabel  on  senseless  things, 

And  in  low  voice  she  oftentimes  would  cry 
After  her  brethren  in  their  wanderings, 

And  ask  them  where  her  Basil  was  ;  and  why 
'Twas  hid  from  her  ;  and  sad  she  sighed  "  0  cruelty 
To  steal  my  Basil-pot  away  from  me." 


THE  BESIEGED   CASTLE. 


WALTER    SCOTT. 


[Ivanhoe,  an  English  knight,  has  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  Normans  and 
lies  wounded  in  a  chamber  in  a  castle,  under  the  care  of  Rebecca,  the  Jewess, 
who  is  also  a  prisoner.     To  her  question  if  his  wounds  pain  him,  he  replies :] 

r  "IV  >T  Y  mind,  gentle  maiden,  is  more  disturbed  by  anxiety  than 
■LVJ-  my  body  with  pain.  From  the  speeches  of  these  men 
who  were  my  warders  just  now  I  learn  that  I  am  a  prisoner ;  and, 
Hif  I  judge  aright  of  the  loud,  hoarse  voice  which  even  now  dis- 
patched them  hence  on  some  military  dnty,  I  am  in  the  castle  of 
Front-de-Boeuf.  If  I  could  but  drag  myself  to  yonder  window  that  I 
might  see  how  this  brave  game  is  ]ike  to  go  !  If  I  had  but  a  bow 
to  shoot  a  shaft,  or  a  battle-axe  to  strike — were  it  but  a  single  blow — 


154  WERNER'S  READINGS 

for  our  deliverance  !  It  is  vain  !  it  is  vain  !  I  am  alike  nerveless 
and  weaponless  !  " 

"  Fret  not  thyself,  noble  knight.  The  sounds  have  ceased  of  a 
sudden ;  it  may  be  they  join  not  to  battle." 

"Thou  knowest  naught  of  it.  This  dead  pause  only  shows  that 
the  men  are  at  their  posts  on  the  walls,  expecting  an  instant  attack. 
"What  we  have  heard  was  but  the  distant  muttering  of  the  storm  — 
it  will  burst  anon  in  all  its  fury.     Could  I  but  reach  yon  window  !  " 

"Thou  wilt  but  injure  thyself  by  the  attempt,  noble  knight.  I 
myself  will  stand  at  the  lattice  and  describe  to  you,  as  I  can,  what 
passes  without." 

"  You  mast  not — you  shall  not !  Each  lattice,  each  aperture  will 
be  soon  a  mark  for  the  archers  ;  some  random  shaft " 

"  It  shall  be  welcome." 

"  Rebecca,  dear  Rebecca,  this  is  no  maiden's  pastime.  Do  not 
expose  thyself  to  wounds  and  death,  and  render  me  forever  miser- 
able for  having  given  the  occasion.  At  least,  cover  thyself  with 
yonder  ancient  buckler,  and  show  as  little  of  thy  person  at  the  lat- 
tice as  may  be." 

Following  his  directions,  Rebecca,  with  tolerable  security  to  her- 
self, could  witness  part  of  what  was  passing  without  the  castle, 
and  report  to  Ivanhoe  the  preparations  which  the  assailants  were 
making  for  the  storm. 

"  The  skirts  of  the  wood  seem  lined  with  archers,  although  only 
a  few  are  advanced  from  its  dark  shadow." 

"  Seest  thou  who  they  be  that  act  as  leaders  ?  " 

"A  knight  clad  in  sable  armor  is  the  most  conspicuous;  he  alone 
is  armed  from  head  to  heel,  and  seems  to  assume  the  direction  of 
all  around  him." 

"  Seem  there  no  other  leaders  ?  " 

"None  of  mark  and  distinction  that  I  can  behold  from  this 
station  ;  but  doubtless  the  other  side  of  the  castle  is  also  assailed 
—  they  appear  even  now  to  advance.  They  raise  their  bows  !  God 
of  Moses,  forgive  the  creatures  Thou  hast  made  !  " 

Her  description  was  here  interrupted  by  the  shouts  of  both  par- 
ties augmenting  the  fearful  din  ;  the  assailants  crying :  "St.  George 


AND  RECITATIONS.  155 

for  Merrie  England!  "  and  the  Normans  answering  them  with  cries 
of  "  En  avant,  De  Braey  !  "  "Beauseant!  Beauseant!"  "  Front- 
de-Boeuf  a  la  rescousse  !"  according  to  the  different  war-cries  of  their 
commanders. 

"  Look  from  the  window  once  again,  kind  maiden,  and  tell  me  if 
they  yet  advance  to  the  storm.     What  dost  thou  see,  Rebecca !  " 

"  Nothing  but  the  cloud  of  arrows  flying  so  thick  as  to  dazzle 
mine  eyes  and  to  hide  the  men  who  shoot  them." 

"That  cannot  endure  if  they  press  not  right  on  to  carry  the  castle 
by  pure  force  of  arms ;  the  archery  may  avail  but  little  against 
stone-walls  and  bulwarks.  Look  for  the  Black  Knight  and  see  how 
he  bears  himself ;    for  as  the  leader  is,  so  will  his  followers  be." 

"  I  see  him  not." 

"  Foul  craven  !  Does  he  blench  from  the  helm  when  the  wind 
blows  highest  ? " 

"  He  blenches  not !  he  blenches  not !  I  see  him  now  !  He 
leads  a  body  of  men  close  under  the  outer  barrier  of  the  barbican. 
They  have  made  a  breach  in  the  barriers  —  they  rush  in  —  they 
fare  thrust  back !  Front-de-Boeuf  heads  the  defenders !  They 
throng  again  to  the  breach,  and  the  pass  is  disputed  hand  to  hand 
and  man  to  man." 

"  Look  forth  again,  Rebecca !  The  archery  must,  in  some 
degree,  have  ceased,  since  they  are  now  fighting  hand  to  hand." 

"  He  is  down  !  he  is  down  !  " 

"Who  is  down?" 

"The  Black  Knight!  But  no  —  but  no  —  he  is  on  foot  again 
and  fights  as  if  there  were  twenty  men's  strength  in  his  single 
arm.  His  sword  is  broken  —  he  snatches  an  axe  from  a  yeoman  — 
he  presses  Front-de-Boeuf  with  blow  on  blow — he  falls — he  falls!  " 

"Front-de-Boeuf?" 

"Yes ;  his  men  rush  to  the  rescue,  headed  by  the  haughty  Tem- 
plar. Their  united  force  compels  the  champion  to  pause  —  they 
drag  Front-de-Boeuf  within  the  Avails !  " 

"  The  assailants  have  won  the  barriers,  have  they  not  ?  " 

"  They  have  !  they  have  !  " 

"  Who  yield  ?     Who  push  their  way  ?  " 


156  WERNER'S  READINGS 

"The  besieged  have  the  better." 

"  Saint  George,  strike  for  us  !     Do  the  false  yeomen  give  way  ? ' 

"  No,  they  bear  themselves  right  yeomanly.  The  Black  Knigh 
approaches  the  postern  with  his  huge  axe  —  the  thundering  blow 
which  he  deals  you  may  hear  above  all  the  din  of  the  battle.  Thi 
postern  gate  shakes  —  it  crashes  —  it  is  splintered  by  his  blows 
They  rush  in  —  the  outwork  is  won!  0  Heaven!  they  hurl  tb 
defenders  from  the  battlements  —  they  throw  them  into  the  moat 
0  men,  if  ye  be  indeed  men,  spare  them  that  can  resist  no  longer 
Alas!  I  see  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  look  upon  victory  tha. 
battle." 

"What  do  they  now,  maiden  ?  This  is  no  time  to  faint  at  blood 
shed." 

"  It  is  over  for  the  time." 

"Our  friends  will  surely  not  abandon  an  enterprise  so  gloriously 
begun  and  so  happily  attained.  Oh,  no !  I  will  put  my  faith  ii 
the  good  knight  —  I  swear  by  the  honor  of  my  house ;  I  vov 
by  the  name  of  my  lady  love,  I  would  endure  ten  years'  captivity 
to  fight  one  day  by  that  good  knight's  side  in  such  a  quarrel  ai 
this !  " 

"Alas  !  this  impatient  yearning  after  action  will  not  fail  to  injur* 
your  returning  healths  How  couldst  thou  hope  to  inflict  wounds  oi 
others  ere  that  be  healed  which  thou  thyself  hast  received  ?  " 

"  Rebecca,  dear  Rebecca,  thou  knowest  not  how  impossible  it  ii 
for  one  trained  to  actions  of  chivalry  to  remain  passive  as  a  pries 
or  a  woman  when  they  are  acting  deeds  of  honor  around  him.  Th< 
love  of  battle  is  the  food  upon  which  we  live ;  the  dust,  the  melee 
is  the  breath  of  our  nostrils  !  We  live  not — we  wish  not  to  liv< 
longer  than  while  we  are  victorious  and  renowned.  Such,  maiden 
are  the  laws  of  chivalry  to  which  we  are  sworn,  and  to  which  w< 
offer  all  that  we  hold  dear." 

"Would  to  Heaven  that  I  could  redeem  Judah  !  Would  tha 
mine  own  blood  might  avail  to  set  free  my  father,  and  this  hii 
benefactor  from  the  chains  of  the  oppressor  !  He  sleeps  !  Nature 
exhausted  by  sufferance  and  waste  of  spirits,  his  wearied  frame  em- 
braces the  first  moments  of  temporary  relaxation  to  sink  into  slumber.' 


AND  RECITATIONS.  157 

At  that  moment  he  awakened,  only  to  be  sensible  of  a  new  dan- 
ger—  the  burning  of  the  castle.  The  Templar  came  and  bore  Re- 
becca from  the  scene  At  that  instant  the  Black  Knight  entered 
the  apartment,  seized  Ivanhoe  and  rushed  to  the  postern  One 
turret  was  now  in  flames,  which  burst  out  furiously  from  window 
and  shot-hole.  The  towering  flames  soon  surmounted  e^ery  obstruc- 
tion and  rose  to  the  evening  skies,  one  huge  and  burning  beacon, 
seen  far  and  wide  throughout  the  adjacent  country  Tower  after 
tower  crashed  down  with  blazing  roof  and  rafter,  and  the  combat- 
auts  were  driven  from  the  court-yard. 

The  victors,  assembling  in  large  bands,  gazed  with  fear  and 
wonder  upon  the  flames.  At  length,  with  a  terrific  crash,  the  whole 
turret  gave  way,  and  a  voice  was  heard :  "  Shout,  yeomen,  the 
den  of  tyrants  is  no  more  ! " 


THE  FEAST  OF  ROSES. 


THOMAS    MOORE 


T  \  7"  HO  has  not  heard  of  the  Vale  of  Cashmere, 

*  ■       With  its  roses  the  brightest  that  earth  ever  gave, 
Its  temples  and  gardens  and  fountains  as  clear 

As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hang  over  their  wave  ? 
But  never  yet,  by  night  or  by  day, 
In  dew  of  spring  or  summer's  ray 
Did  the  sweet  valley  shine  so  gay 
As  now  it  shines — all  love  and  light, 
Visions  by  day  and  feasts  by  night ! 
A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow, 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  uncloses, 
And  all  is  ecstacy,  for  now 

The  valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses. 

'Twas  when  the  hour  of  evening  came 
Upon  the  lake,  serene  and  cool, 


158  WERNER'S  READINGS 

When  day  had  hid  his  sultry  flame, 

Behind  the  shades  of  Baramoule, 
A  thousand  restless  torches  played 
Through  every  grove  and  island  shade ; 
A  thousand  sparkling  lamps  were  set 
On  every  dome  and  minaret ; 
And  all  were  free,  and  wandering, 

And  all  exclaimed  to  all  they  met, 
That  never  did  the  summer  bring 

So  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet 

If  woman  can  the  worst  wilderness  make  dear 

Think  what  a  heaven  she  must  make  of  Cashmere  ! 

So  felt  the  magnificent  Son  of  Acbar, 

When  from  power  and  pomp  and  trophies  of  war 

He  flew  to  the  Valley,  forgetting  them  all, 

With  the  light  of  his  harem,  his  young  Nourmahal. 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  night  of  joy, 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ  ? 

Where  does  the  loved  Sultana  hide  her  brow, 

In  melancholy  stillness  now  ? 

Alas  !  how  light  a  cause  may  move 

Dissension  between  hearts  that  love  ! 

A  something  light  as  air,  a  look, 

A  word  unkind  or  wrongly  taken — 
0  love  that  tempests  never  shook, 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken ! 

Such  cloud  it  is  that  now  hangs  over 
The  heart  of  the  imperial  lover, 
And  far  hath  banished  from  his  sight 
His  Nourmahal,  his  harem's  light ! 
Hence  is  it,  on  this  happy  night, 

He  wanders  joyless  and  alone ; 
Hence  is  it,  too,  that  Nourmahal 

Amid  the  luxuries  of  this  hour, 


A  ND  R  ECITA  TTONS.  159 

Far  from  the  joyous  festival, 

Sits  in  her  own  sequestered  bower, 
With  no  one  near  to  soothe  or  aid, 
But  that  inspired  and  wondrous  maid, 

Namouna,  the  Enchantress,  who  had  pledged  she  would  recall 
Her  Selim's  smile  again  to  Nourmahal. 

'Twas  midnight.     Thus  Namouna  :  "  Tis  the  hour 
That  scatters  spells  on  herb  and  flower; 
Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreathed 
Ot  buds  o'er  which  the  morn  has  breathed, 
"Which,  worn  by  her  whose  love  has  strayed, 

Might  bring  some  Peri  from  the  skies, 
Some  sprite,  whose  very  soul  is  made 

Of  flowerets'  breaths  and  lovers'  sighs, 
And  who  might  tell " 

"  'Tis  for  me,  for  me," 
Cries  Nourmahal,  impatiently. 
"  0  !  twine  that  wreath  for  me  to-night !  " 
Then  rapidly,  with  foot  as  light 
As  the  young  musk-roe's,  out  she  flew, 
To  cull  each  shining  leaf  that  grew 
Beneath  the  moonlight's  hallowing  beam ; 
Then  to  Namouna  flies,  and  showers 
Upon  her  lap  the  shining  flowers. 
Filled  with  the  cool  inspiring  smells, 
The  enchantress  now  begins  her  spells. 

No  sooner  was  the  flowery  crown 
Placed  on  her  head,  than  sleep  came  down, 
Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fall, 
Upon  the  lids  of  Nourmahal. 
Suddenly  a  Spirit  hovers  round  her  and  sings : 

"  Hither  I  come 

From  my  fairy  home  ; 


160  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  if  there's  magic  in  music's  strain 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 

Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again." 

'Tis  dawn  and  Nourmahal  is  up  and  trying 
The  wonders  of  her  lute,  whose  strings, 

Oh,  bliss !  now  murmur  like  the  sighing 
From  that  ambrosial  spirit's  wings. 

And  then  her  voice  —  'tis  more  than  human ; 

Never  till  now  had  it  been  given 

To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  Heaven ; 

And,  rapt,  she  dwells  upon  the  song, 

And  pours  again  each  sound  along. 

That  evening  (trusting  that  his  soul 

Might  be  from  haunting  love  released, 
By  mirth,  by  music  and  the  bowl) 

Imperial  Selim  held  a  feast 
In  his  magnificent  Shalimar ; 
In  whose  saloons,  when  the  first  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled, 
The  valley's  loveliest  all  assembled. 
Everything  young,  everything  fair, 
From  east  and  west  is  blushing  there, 
Except,  except,  0  Nourmahal ! 
Thou  loveliest,  dearest,  of  them  all, 
Thou  wert  not  there  —  so  Selim  thought, 

And  everything  seemed  drear  without  thee. 
But,  ah !  thou  wert,  thou  wert  —  and  brought 

Thy  charm  of  song  all  fresh  about  thee. 

Mingling  unnoticed  with  a  band 
Of  lutanists  from  many  a  land, 
And  veiled  by  such  a  mask  as  shades 
The  features  of  young  Arab  maids, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  161 

She  roved,  with  beating  heart,  around, 

And  waited,  trembling,  for  the  minute 
When  she  might  try  if  still  the  sound 

Of  her  loved  lute  had  magic  in  it. 

The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wines  — 
Wines,  too,  of  every  clime  and  hue, 

But  what  are  cups  without  the  aid 
Of  song  to  speed  them  as  they  flow  ? 

And  see  —  a  lovely  Georgian  maid 
With  a  voluptuous  wildness  flings 
Her  snowy  hands  across  the  strings 
Of  a  syrinda,  and  thus  sings : 
"  Come  hither,  come  hither,  by  night  and  by  day, 

We  linger  in  pleasures  that  never  are  gone ; 
Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away, 

Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  comes  on. 
And  the  love  that  is  o'er,  in  expiring  gives  birth 

To  a  new  one  as  warm,  as  unequalled  in  bliss ; 
And,  oh,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth 

It  is  this,  it  is  this  !  " 

'Twas  not  the  air,  'twas  not  the  words, 

But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords. 

At  once  a  hundred  voices  said : 

"  It  is  the  masked  Arabian  maid." 

While  Selim  who  had  deepest  felt  the  strain 

Now  motioned  with  his  hand  that  she  should  sing  again. 

Too  inly  touched  for. -utterance,  he  dashed  away  the  cup 

His  hand  had  held,  untasted,  up ; 

And  naming  her  so  long  unnamed, 

So  long  unseen,  wildly  exclaimed : 

"  0  Nourmahal !     0  Nourmahal ! 

Hadst  thou  but  sung  this  witching  strain, 
I  could  forget — forgive  thee  all, 

And  never  leave  those  eyes  again !  " 


162  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  mask  is  off,  the  charm  is  wrought, 
And  Selim  to  his  heart  has  caught, 
In  blushes  more  than  ever  bright, 
His  Nourmahal,  his  harem's  light ! 
And,  happier  now  for  all  her  sighs, 

As  on  his  arm  her  head  reposes, 
She  whispers  him  with  laughing  eyes, 

"  Remember,  love,  the  Feast  of  Roses !  " 


WHO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS? 


THOMAS   MOORE. 


H 


'YMEN,  late,  his  love-knots  selling, 
Called  at  many  a  maiden's  dwelling. 
None  could  doubt,  who  saw  or  knew  them, 
Hymen's  call  was  welcome  to  them  : 
"Who'll  buy  my  love-knots  ? 
Who'll  buy  my  love-knots  ?  " 
Soon  as  that  sweet  cry  resounded, 
How  his  baskets  were  surrounded  ! 

Maids  who  now  first  dreamed  of  trying 

These  gay  knots  of  Hymen's  tying ; 

Dames  who  long  had  sat  to  watch  him 

Passing  by,  but  ne'er  could  catch  him,* 

"  Who'll  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who'll  buy  my  love-knots  ?  " 

All  at  that  sweet  cry  assembled; 

Some  laughed,  some  blushed,  and  some  trembled. 

"  Here  are  knots,"  said  Hymen,  taking 
Some  loose  flowers,  "  of  Love's  own  making; 
Here  are  gold  ones  —  you  may  trust  'em  !  " 
(These,  of  course,  found  ready  custom.) 


AND  RECITATIONS.  163 

"  Come,  buy  my  love-knots  ! 

Come,  buy  my  love-knots  ! 

Some  are  labelled  '  Knots  to  tie  men  — 

Love  the  maker  —  Bought  of  Hymen.'  " 

Scarce  their  bargains  were  completed, 
When  the  nymphs  all  cried,  "  We're  cheated ! 
See  these  flowers  —  they're  drooping  sadly  ! 
This  gold-knot,  too,  ties  but  badly  ! 
Who'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 
Who'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 
Even  this  tie,  with  Love's  name  round  it  — 
All  a  sham  !     He  never  bound  it." 

Love,  who  saw  the  whole  proceeding, 

Would  have  laughed,  but  for  good-breeding ; 

While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 

Cries  like  that  these  dames  gave  loose  to  — 

"  Take  back  our  love-knots  ! 

Take  back  our  love-knots  !  " — 

Coolly  said  :  "  There's  no  returning 

Wares  on  Hymen's  hands  !     Good  morning." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  WATERLOO. 


VICTOR  HUGO. 


T7OR  both  armies  the  opening  was  difficult,  uncertain,  hesitating, 
I      and  threatening. 

It  had  rained  all  night.  The  ground  was  softened  by  the 
shower ;  water  lay  here  and  there  in  the  hollows  of  the  plain  as 
in  basins ;  at  some  points  the  wheels  sank  in  to  the  axles ;  the 
horses'  girths  dripped  with  liquid  mud.  Had  not  the  wheat  and 
rye  spread  down  by  that  multitude  of  advancing  carts  filled  the 
ruts  and  made  a  bed  under  the  wheels,  all  movement,  particularly 
in  the  valleys,  would  have  been  impossible. 


164  WERNER'S  READINGS 

The  affair  opened  late.  Napoleon  had  a  habit  of  holding  all  his 
artillery  in  hand  like  a  pistol,  aiming  now  at  one  point,  anon  at 
another  point  of  the  battle ;  and  he  desired  to  wait  until  the  field- 
batteries  could  wheel  and  gallop  freely;  for  this  the  sun  must 
come  out  and  dry  the  ground.  But  the  sun  did  not  come  out.  He 
had  not  now  the  field  of  Austerlitz. 

"When  the  first  gun  was  fired,  the  English  General  Colville  looked 
at  his  watch  and  noted  that  it  was  thirty-five  minutes  past  eleven. 
The  battle  was  commenced  with  great  fury  by  the  left  wing  of  the 
French  at  liougomout.  At  the  same  time  Napoleon  attacked  the 
centre.  Ney  commanded  the  right  wing  of  the  French,  and  im- 
mediately attacked  the  left  wing  of  the  English.  This  attack 
was  intended  to  overwhelm  the  English  left,  cut  the  Brussels  road, 
bar  the  passage  of  the  Prussians,  should  they  come,  to  carry  Mont 
St.  Jean  and  drive  Wellington  back.  It  was  successful.  La  Haie 
Sainte  was  captured.     Then  the  battle  wavered. 

There  is  in  this  day  from  noon  to  four  o'clock  an  obscure  interval ; 
the  middle  of  the  battle  is  almost  indistinct,  and  partakes  of  the 
thickness  of  the  conflict.  Twilight  was  gathering.  You  could 
perceive  vast  fluctuations  in  this  mist,  a  giddy  mirage,  implements 
of  war  now  almost  unknown,  the  flaming  colbacks,  the  waving 
sabretaches ;  the  crossed  &houlder-belts ;  the  grenade  cartridge 
boxes ;  the  dolmans  of  the  Hussars ;  the  red  boots  with  a  thousand 
creases ;  the  heavy  shakos  festooned  with  fringe  ;  the  almost  black 
infantry  of  Brunswick  united  with  the  scarlet  infantry  of  England ; 
the  English  soldiers  with  great  white  circular  pads  on  their  sleeves 
for  epaulets  ;  the  Hanoverian  light  horse  with  their  oblong  leather 
caps  with  copper  bands  and  flowing  plumes  of  red  horse-hair ;  the 
Scotch  with  bare  knees  and  plaids;  the  large  white  gaiters  of 
the  French  grenadiers, — tableaux,  not  strategic  lines,  the  need  of 
Salvator  Rosa,  not  of  Gribeauval. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  battle  assumed  precision.  Toward 
four  o'clock  the  situation  of  the  English  army  was  serious.  The 
Prince  of  Orange,  desperate  and  intrepid,  called  to  the  Hollando- 
Belgians,  "  Nassau  !  Brunswick  !  never  retreat ! "  Wellington  was 
frigidly  heroic.     The  balls  rained  down,     His  aide-de-camp  had 


AND  RECITATIONS.  165 

just  fallen  at  his  side.  Lord  Hill,  showing  him  a  bursting  shell, 
said: 

"  My  lord,  what  are  your  instructions,  and  what  orders  do  you 
leave  us  if  you  allow  yourself  to  be  killed  ? " 

"  To  follow  my  example,"  answered  Wellington 

To  Clinton  he  said,  laconically :  "  Hold  this  spot  to  the  last 
fman." 

\  The  day  was  clearly  going  badly.  Wellington  cried  to  his  old 
companions  of  Talavera,  Vittoria  and  Salamanca  •  "  Boys,  we  must 
not  be  beaten  !     What  would  they  say  of  us  in  England  ?" 

About  this  time,  the  English  line  staggered  backward.  All  at 
.pace  only  the  artillery  and  sharpshooters  were  seen  on  the  crest  of 
the  plateau ;  the  rest  disappeared  These  regiments,  driven  by  the 
shells  and  bullets  of  the  French,  fell  back  into  the  valley.  A  ret- 
rograde movement  took  place  ;  the  battle  front  of  the  English  was 
slipping  away  ;  Wellington  gave  ground. 

"  Beginning  retreat !  "  cried  Napoleon.  He  started  up  and  half 
rose  in  his  saddle  The  flash  of  victory  passed  into  his  eyes.  Wel- 
lington hurled  back  on  the  forest  of  Soignies  and  destroyed — that 
was  the  final  overthrow  of  England  by  France !  It  was  Crecy, 
Poitiers,  Malplaquet  and  Ramillies  avenged  !  The  man  of  Maren- 
go was  wiping  out  Agincourt.  Contemplating  this  terrible  turn  of 
fortune,  the  Emperor  swept  his  glass  for  the  last  time  over  every 
point  of  the  battle-field.  He  was  reflecting ,  he  was  examining 
the  slopes,  noting  the  ascents,  scrutinizing  the  tuft  of  trees,  the 
square  rye-field,  the  footpath;  he  seemed  to  count  every  bush. 
Wellington  had  fallen  back.  It  remained  only  to  complete  the 
repulse  by  a  crushing  charge  Turning  abruptly  he  sent  off  a 
courier  at  full  speed  to  Paris,  to  announce  that  the  battle  was  won. 
He  then  ordered  Milhaud's  cuirassiers  to  carry  the  plateau  of  Mont 
Saint  Jean. 

Behind  the  crest  of  the  plateau  the  English  infantry  waited,  calm, 
silent  and  immovable.  They  could  not  see  the  cuirassiers  and  the 
cuirassiers  could  not  see  them.  They  listened  to  the  rising  of  this 
tide  of  men.  They  heard  the  increasing  sound  of  three  thousand 
horses,  the  alternate  and  measured  striking  of  their  hoofs  at  full 


166  WERNERS  READINGS 

trot,  the  rattling  of  the  cuirasses,  the  clicking  of  the  sabres,  and 
the  fierce  roar  of  the  coming  host.  There  was  a  moment  of  fear- 
ful silence,  then,  suddenly,  a  long  line  of  raised  arms  brandishing 
sabres  appeared  above  the  crest,  with  casques,  trumpets  and  stand- 
ards, and  three  thousand  faces  with  grey  mustaches  crying  "  Vive 
VEmperewr ! "  All  this  cavalry  debouched  on  the  plateau  ;  it  was 
like  the  beginning  of  an  earthquake.  All  at  once,  at  the  left  of  the 
English  the  head  of  the  column  of  cuirassiers  reared  with  a  fright- 
ful clamor.  Arrived  at  the  culminating  point  of  the  crest,  un- 
manageable, full  of  fury,  and  bent  on  the  extermination  of  the 
English  squares,  the  cuirassiers  saw  between  themselves  and  the 
English,  a  ditch — a  grave.  It  was  the  sunken  road  of  Ohain.  It 
was  a  frightful  moment.  There  was  the  ravine,  unlocked  for, 
yawning  at  the  very  feet  of  the  horses,  two  fathoms  deep.  The 
second  rank  pushed  m  the  first,  the  third  pushed  in  the  second 
The  horses  reared,  threw  themselves  over,  fell  upon  their  backs  and 
struggled  with  their  feet  in  the  air,  piling  up  and  overturning  their 
riders.  No  power  to  retreat,  the  whole  column  was  nothing  but  a 
projectile.  The  force  acquired  to  crush  the  English,  crushed  the 
French.  The  inexorable  ravine  could  not  yield  until  it  was  filled; 
riders  and  horses  rolled  in  together  pell-mell,  grinding  each  other, 
making  common  flesh  in  this  dreadful  gulf;  and  when  this  grave 
was  full  of  living  men,  the  rest  marched  over  them  and  passed  on. 
Here  the  loss  of  the  battle  commenced. 

At  the  same  time  with  the  ravine,  the  artillery  was  unmasked. 
All  the  English  Hying  artillery  took  position  in  the  squares  at  a 
gallop.  The  cuirassiers  had  not  even  time  to  breathe.  T.  e  disas- 
ter of  the  sunken  road  had  decimated  but  not  discouraged  them. 
They  were  men  who,  diminished  in  number,  grew  greater  in  heart. 
The  English  battalions,  desperately  assailed,  did  not  yield  an  inch. 
Then  it  was  frightful.  All  sides  of  the  English  squares  were 
attacked  at  once.  A  whirlwind  of  frenzy  enveloped  them.  This 
frigid  infantry  remained  impassable.  The  cuirassiers  rushed  for- 
ward with  crushing  force.  The  great  horses  reared,  trampled  upon 
the  ranks,  leaped  over  the  bayonets  and  fell,  gigantic,  in  the  midst 
of  these  four  living  walls.     The  balls  made  gaps  in  the  ranks  of 


AND  RECITATIONS.  167 

the  cuirassiers ;  the  cuirassiers  made  breaches  in  the  squares.  Files 
of  men  disappeared,  ground  down  beneath  the  horses'  feet.  The 
squares  kept  up  an  explosion  in  the  midst  of  their  assailants. 
They  were  battalions  no  longer,  they  were  craters.  With  such 
Frenchmen  only  such  Englishmen  could  cope.  It  was  no  longer 
a  conflict !  it  was  a  darkness,  a  fury,  a  giddy  vortex  of  souls  and 
courage,  a  hurricane  of  sword-fiashes  !  In  an  instant  the  fourteen 
hundred  horse-guards  were  but  eight.  The  cuirassiers  left  the 
cavalry  to  return  to  the  infantry.  All  this  terrible  multitude 
wrestled  with  each  other  without  letting'  go  their  hold. 

There  were  twelve  assaults,  the  struggle  lasting  two  hours.  The 
English  army  was  terribly  shaken.  Wellington,  though  three- 
fourths  conquered,  was  struck  with  heroic  admiration.  He  said  in 
a  low  voice  :  "Splendid!"  This  strange  battle  was  like  a  duel 
between  two  wounded  infuriates,  who,  while  yet  righting  and 
resisting,  lose  all  their  blood.  Which  of  the  two  shall  fall  first  ? 
The  English  army  was  farthest  gone.  The  furious  onslaughts  of 
these  great  squadrons  had  ground  up  the  infantry.  A  few  men 
about  a  flag  marked  the  place  of  a  regiment ;  battalions  were  now 
commanded  by  captains  or  lieutenants.  Alten's  division  was 
almost  destroyed ;  there  were  hardly  any  left  of  those  Dutch  gren- 
adiers. The  loss  in  officers  was  heavy.  With  the  exception  of  the 
small  reserve  drawn  up  behind  the  hospital,  Wellington's  cavalry 
was  exhausted.  Many  thought  the  Duke  beyond  hope.  At  five 
o'clock  Wellington  drew  out  his  watch,  and  was  heard  to  murmur 
these  sombre  words  :   "  Bliicher  or  night!  " 

It  was  about  this  time  that  a  distant  line  of  bayonets  glistened 
on  the  heights  beyond  Frischemont.  Bliicher  and  his  army  arrived 
in  time. 

The  irruption  of  a  third  army  threw  everything  in  confusion.  A 
new  battle  falling  at  nightfall  upon  the  dismantled  regiments  of 
the  French,  the  whole  English  line,  assuming  the  offensive,  pushed 
forward.  The  gigantic  gap  made  in  the  French  army,  the  English 
grape  and  the  Prussian  grape  lending  mutual  aid,  extermination, 
disaster  in  front,  disaster  in  flank,  the  Guard  entered  into  line 
amid  this  terrible  crumbling.     Feeling  that  they  were  going  to 


168  WERNERS  READINGS 

their  death,  they  cried  out :  "  Vive  PEmpereur ! "  There  is  nothing 
more  touching  in  history  than  this  death-agony  bursting  forth  in 
acclamations. 

The  sky  had  been  overcast  all  day.  All  at  once,  at  this  very 
moment  — it  was  eight  o'clock  at  night  —  the  clouds  in  the  horizon 
broke,  and  through  the  elms  of  the  Nivelles  road  streamed  the  sin- 
ister red  light  of  the  setting  sun. 

Arrangements  were  speedily  made  for  the  final  effort.  Each 
battalion  was  commanded  by  a  general.  When  the  tall  caps  of  the 
Grenadiers  of  the  Guard  with  their  large  eagle  plates  appeared, 
symmetrical,  drawn  up  in  line,  calm  in  the  smoke  of  that  conflict, 
the  enemy  felt  respect  for  France.  They  thought  they  saw  twenty 
victories  entering  upon  the  field  of  battle  with  wings  extended,  and 
those  who  were  conquerors  thinking  themselves  conquered  recoiled ; 
but  Wellington  cried  :  "  Up,  Guards,  and  at  them  !  "  The  red 
regiment  of  English  Guards,  lying  behind  the  hedges,  rose  up ;  a 
shower  of  grape  riddled  the  tricolored  flag.  All  hurled  themselves 
forward,  and  the  final  carnage  began.  The  Imperial  Guard  felt  the 
army  slipping  away  around  them  in  the  gloom,  and  the  vast  over- 
throw of  the  rout.  They  heard  the  " Sauve  qui  pent!  "  which  had 
replaced  "  Vive  PEmpereur!"  and,  with  flight  between  them,  they 
held  on  their  course,  battered  more  and  more,  dying  faster  and 
faster.  There  were  no  weak  souls  or  cowards  there.  The  privates 
of  that  band  were  as  heroic  as  their  general.  Not  a  man  flinched 
from  the  suicide. 

The  army  fell  back  rapidly  from  all  sides  at  once,  from  Hougo^ 
mont,  La  Haie  Sainte,  Papelottle  and  Planchenoit.  The  cry 
"  Treachery  !  "  was  followed  by  "  /Sauve  qui  peut!  "  A  disbanding 
army  is  a  thaw.  The  whole  bends,  cracks,  snaps,  floats,  rolls,  falls, 
crashes,  hurries,  plunges.  Ney  borrows  a  horse,  leaps  upon  him, 
and,  without  hat,  cravat,  or  sword,  plants  himself  in  the  Brussels 
road,  arresting  at  once  the  English  and  the  French.  He  endeavors 
to  hold  the  army ;  he  calls  them  back,  he  reproaches  them,  he 
grapples  with  the  rout.  He  is  swept  away.  The  soldiers  flee  from 
him  crying,  "  Vive  Marshal  Ney!"  Dnrutte's  two  regiments  come 
and  go,  frightened  and  tossed  between  the  sabres  of  the  Uhlans 


AND  RECITATIONS.  169 

and  the  lire  of  the  brigades  of  Kempt.  Rout  is  the  worst  of  all 
conflicts;  friends  slay  each  other  in  their  flight;  squadrons  and 
battalions  are  crushed  and  dispersed  against  each  other,  enormous 
foam  of  the  battle.  Napoleon  gallops  among  the  fugitives,  ha- 
rangues them,  urges,  threatens,  entreats.  The  mouths  which  in 
the  morning  were  crying  "  Vive  VMmjjereur"  are  now  agape.  He 
is  hardly  recognized.  The  Prussian  cavalry,  just  come  up,  spring 
forward,  fling  themselves  upon  the  enemy,  sabre,  cut,  hack,  kill, 
exterminate.  Teams  rush  off;  the  guns  are  left  to  the  care  of 
themselves ;  the  soldiers  of  the  train  unhitch  the  caissons  and  take 
the  horses  to  escape ;  wagons  upset,  with  their  four  wheels  in  the 
air,  block  up  the  road,  and  are  accessories  of  massacre.  They 
crush  and  they  crowd ;  they  trample  upon  the  living  and  the  dead. 
Arms  are  broken.  A  multitude  fills  roads,  paths,  bridges,  plains, 
hills,  valleys,  woods,  choked  up  by  this  flight  of  forty  thousand  men. 
Cries,  despair;  knapsacks  and  muskets  cast  into  the  rye ;  passages 
forced  at  the  point  of  the  sword ;  no  more  comrades,  no  more  offi- 
cers, no  more  generals ;  an  inexpressible  dismay.  Ziethen  sabring 
France  at  his  ease.     Lions  become  kids.     Such  was  this  flight. 

A  few  squares  of  the  Guard,  immovable  in  the  flow  of  the  rout  as 
rocks  in  running  water,  held  out  until  night.  Night  approaching 
and  death  also,  they  awaited  this  double  shadow,  and  yielded  un- 
faltering to  its  embrace.  At  every  discharge  the  square  grew  less, 
but  returned  the  fire.  It  replied  to  grape  by  bullets,  narrowing  in 
its  four  walls  continually.  Afar  off  the  fugitives,  stopping  for  a 
moment  out  of  breath,  heard  in  the  darkness  this  dismal  thunder 
decreasing. 

When  this  legion  was  reduced  to  a  handful,  when  their  flag  was 
reduced  to  a  shred,  when  their  muskets,  exhausted  of  ammunition, 
were  reduced  to  nothing  but  clubs,  when  the  pile  of  corpses  was. 
larger  than  the  group  of  the  living,  there  spread  among  the  con- 
querors a  sort  of  sacred  terror  about  these  sublime  martyrs,  and  the 
English  artillery,  stopping  to  take  breath,  was  silent.  It  was  a  kind 
of  respite.  These  combatants  had  about  them  a  swarm  of  spectres, 
the  outlines  of  men  on  horseback,  the  black  profile  of  the  cannons, 
the  white  sky  seen  through  the  wheels  and  gun-carriages.     The 


170  WERNER'S  READINGS 

colossal  death's  head,  which  heroes  always  see  in  the  smoke  of  the 
battle,"  was  advancing  upon  them  and  glaring  at  them.  They 
could  hear  in  the  gloom  of  the  twilight  the  loading  of  the  pieces. 
The  lighted  matches,  like  tigers'  eyes  in  the  night,  made  a  circle 
about  their  heads.  All  the  linstocks  of  the  English  batteries 
approached  the  guns,  when,  touched  by  their  heroism,  holding  the 
death-moment  suspended  over  these  men,  an  English  general  cried 
to  them : 

"  Brave  Frenchmen,  surrender  !  " 

The  word  "Never  !  "  fierce  and  desperate,  came  rolling  back. 

To  this  word  the  English  general  replied,  "  Fire  !  " 

The  batteries  flamed,  the  hill  trembled;  from  all  those  brazen 
throats  went  forth  a  final  vomiting  of  grape,  terrific.  A  vast  smoke, 
dusky  white  in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  rolled  out,  and  when 
the  smoke  was  dissipated,  there  was  nothing  left.  That  formidable 
remnant  was  annihilated  —  the  G-uard  was  dead!  The  four  walls 
of  the  living  redoubt  had  fallen.  Hardly  could  a  quivering  be  dis- 
tinguished here  and  there  among  the  corpses ;  and  thus  the  French 
legions  expired. 


HOW  LISA  LOVED  THE  KING. 


GEORGE    ELIOT. 


Q IX  hundred  years  ago  in  Dante's  time, 

^     Before  his  cheek  was  farrowed  by  deep  rhyme  ■ 

Six  hundred  years  ago,  Palermo  town 

Kept  holiday.     A  deed  of  great  renown, 

A  high  revenge,  had  freed  it  from  the  yoke 

Of  hated  Frenchmen ;  and  from  Calpe's  rock 

To  where  the  Bosphorus  caught  the  earlier  sun, 

'Twas  told  that  Pedro,  King  of  Aragon, 

Was  welcomed  master  of  all  Sicily, 

A  royal  knight,  supreme  as  kings  should  be, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  171 

Spain  was  the  favorite  home  of  knightly  grace, 

Where  generous  men  rode  steeds  of  generous  race ; 

And  in  all  eyes  King  Pedro  was  the  king 

Of  cavaliers  —  as  in  a  full-gemmed  ring 

The  largest  ruby,  or  as  that  bright  star 

Whose  shining  shows  us  where  the  Hyads  are. 

And  Lisa  was  of  no  long  noble  line, 

Child  of  Bernardo,  a  rich  Florentine, 

Who  from  his  merchant-city  hither  came 

To  trade  in  drugs ;  yet  kept  an  honest  fame. 

He  loved  his  riches  for  his  Lisa's  sake, 

Whom,  with  a  father's  care,  he  sought  to  make 

The  bride  of  some  true,  honorable  man; 

Of  Perdicone  (for  so  the  rumor  ran). 

For  Perdicone  she  cared  not ;  her  young  mind 

Dreamed  not  that  any  man  had  ever  pined 

For  such  a  little  simple  maid  as  she. 

She  had  but  dreamed  how  heavenly  it  would  be 

To  love  some  hero,  noble,  beauteous,  great, 

Who  would  live  stories  worthy  to  narrate. 

And  now  the  flower  of  heroes  must  he  be 

Who  drove  those  tyrants  from  dear  Sicily, 

So  that  her  maids  might  walk  to  vespers  tranquilly. 

She  watched  all  day  that  she  might  see  him  pass 

With  knights  and  ladies ;  but  she  said,  "Alas ! 

Though  he  should  see  me,  it  were  all  as  one 

He  saw  a  pigeon  sitting  on  the  stone 

Of  wall  or  balcony  ;  some  colored  spot 

His  eye  just  sees,  his  mind  regardeth  not. 

I  have  no  music-touch  that  could  bring  nigh 

My  love  to  his  soul's  hearing.     I  shall  die, 

And  he  will  never  know  my  spirit  rose 

As  hedge-born  aloe-flowers  that  rarest  years  disclose/' 

Father  and  mother  saw,  with  sad  dismay, 
The  meaning  of  their  riches  melt  away. 


172  WERNER'S  READINGS 

For  without  Lisa,  what  would  sequins  buy  ? 

What  wish  were  left  if  Lisa  were  to  die  ? 

Yet  one  day,  as  they  bent  above  her  bed, 

And  watched  her  in  brief  sleep,  her  drooping  head 

Turned,  and  her  eyes  she  oped  in  utterance  dumb 

Of  some  new  prayer  that  in  her  sleep  had  come. 

"  What  is  it,  Lisa  ?  "     "  Father,  I  would  see 

Minuccio,  the  great  singer ;   bring  him  me." 

Minuccio  then  entreated,  gladly  came. 

(He  was  a  singer  of  most  gentle  fame  — 

A  noble,  kindly  spirit,  not  elate 

That  he  was  famous,  bat  that  song  was  great  — 

Would  sing  as  finely  to  this  suffering  child, 

As  at  the  court  where  princes  on  him  smiled.) 

"  The  grave  were  rest  if,  lying  cold  and  lone, 

Minuccio,"  she  said,  "  I  knew  my  love  had  flown, 

And  nestled  in  the  bosom  of  the  King ; 

See,  'tis  a  small,  weak  bird,  with  unfledged  wing. 

But  you  will  carry  it  for  me,  secretly, 

And  bear  it  to  the  King ;  then  come  to  me, 

And  tell  me  it  is  safe,  and  I  shall  go 

Content,  knowing  that  he,  I  love,  my  love  doth  know." 

Minuccio  had  his  summons  to  the  court, 

To  make,  as  he  was  wont,  the  moments  short, 

Of  ceremonious  dinner  to  the  King. 

This  was  the  time  when  he  had  meant  to  bring 

Melodious  message  of  young  Lisa's  love. 

He  waited  till  the  air  had  ceased  to  move 

To  ringing  silver,  till  Falernian  wine 

Made  quickened  sense  with  quietude  combine, 

And  then  with  passionate  descant  made  each  ear  incline. 

The  strain  was  new.     It  seemed  a  pleading  cry, 

And  yet  a  rounded,  perfect  melody. 

Trembling  at  first,  then  swelling  as  it  rose  ; 

Like  rising  light  that  broad  and  broader  grows, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  173 

It  filled  the  hall,  and  so  possessed  the  air 
That  not  one  breathing  soul  was  present  there, 
Though  dullest,  slowest,  but  was  quivering 
In  music's  grasp,  and  forced  to  hear  her  sing. 

Meanwhile  the  King,  revolving  in  his  thought 

That  virgin  passion,  was  more  deeply  wrought 

To  chivalrous  pity ;  and  at  vesper  bell, 

With  careless  mien  which  hid  his  purpose  well, 

And  in  half-serious  playfulness,  he  wends, 

With  Lisa's  father  and  two  chosen  friends, 

Up  to  the  chamber  where  she,  pillowed,  sits, 

Watching  the  open  door,  that  now  admits 

A  presence  as  much  better  than  her  dreams, 

As  happiness  than  any  longing  seems. 

The  King  advanced,  and,  with  a  rev'rent  kiss 

Upon  her  hand,  said :  "  Lady,  what  is  this  ? 

We  pray  you,  for  the  love  of  us  be  cheered, 

Nor  be  too  reckless  of  that  life  endeared. 

Excellent  maiden,  that  rich  gift  of  love 

Your  heart  hath  made  us,  hath  a  worth  above 

All  royal  treasures,  nor  is  fitly  met, 

Save  when  the  grateful  memory  of  deep  debt 

Lies  still  behind  the  outward  honors  done. 

And  as  a  sign  that  no  oblivion 

Shall  overflood  that  faithful  memory, 

We,  while  we  live,  your  cavalier  will  be, 

Nor  will  we  ever  arm  ourselves  for  fight, 

Whether  for  struggle  dire  or  brief  delight 

Of  warlike  feigning,  but  we  first  will  take 

The  colors  you  ordain,  and,  for  your  sake, 

Charge  the  more  bravely  where  your  emblem  is, 

And  ne'er  claim  aught  from  you,  save  one  sole  kiss." 

And  Lisa  ?     She  no  longer  wished  for  death  ; 
But,  as  a  poet  who  sweet  verses  saith 


174  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Within  his  soul,  and  joys  in  music  there, 
Nor  seeks  another  heaven,  nor  can  bear 
.     Disturbing  pleasures,  so  was  she  content, 
Breathing  the  life  of  grateful  sentiment. 
Then  was  betrothal  made  that  very  morn, 
'Twixt  Perdicone,  youthful,  brave,  well-born, 
And  Lisa,  whom  he  loved;  she  loving  well 
The  lot  that,  from  obedience,  befell. 
Sicilians  witnessed  that  King  Pedro  kept 
His  royal  promise.     Perdicone  stept 
To  many  honors  honorably  won, 
Living  with  Lisa  in  true  union. 
Throughout  his  life  the  King  still  took  delight 
To  call  himself  fair  Lisa's  faithful  knight ; 
And  never  wore  in  field  or  tournament 
A  scarf  or  emblem,  save  by  Lisa  sent. 


RICHELIEU. 


EDWARD  GEORGE  EARLE  BULWER-LYTTON. 


Dramatis 
Personw. 


Louis  XIII. 

Baradas,  favorite  of  the  King. 

Cardinal  Richelieu,  prime  minister. 

Chevalier  de  Mauprat. 

Josefh,  confidant  to  Richelieu. 

Huguet,  a  spy 

Francois,  first  page  to  Richelieu. 

Julie  de  Mortemar,  ward  to  Richelieu. 

Marion  de  Lorme,  lady  in  Richelieu's  pay. 

A  room  in  de  Mauprat's  house. 

[Enter  Baradas.J 

ID  AR  AD  AS.    De  Mauprat's  new  home— too  splendid  for  a  soldier ! 

But  he  '11  not  have  it  long  if  Baradas  succeed. 
I  have  whispered  his  secret  to  the  King. 

[Enter  de  Mauprat.] 


AND  RECITATIONS.  175 

Ha,  Mauprat !     Joy !     Why,  what  a  brow,  man,   ■ 
For  your  wedding-day ! 

De  Mauprat.     Jest  not ! 
I  have  received  a  letter  from  the  King, 
Declaring  my  marriage  with  Julie  unlawful, 
Because  without  his  consent ;  and  ordering  me 
Not  to  communicate  with  my  wife.     Mark  you, 
He  knows  of  my  seizure  of  Faviaux. 

Bar.     Did  not  Richelieu  say  the  King  knew  not 
Your  crime  ? 

De  Mau.  He  said  so. 

Bar.     See  you  the  snare,  the  vengeance 
Worse  than  death  of  which  you  are  the  victim  ? 
Richelieu  has  but  two  passions,  ambition  and  revenge. 
In  you  both  blended.     First,  for  ambition  : 
Julie  is  his  ward,  he  placed  her  at  the  court, 
Foresaw  the  rest  —  the  King  loves  Julie  ! 

De  Mau.     Merciful  Heaven  !     The  King  ! 
;    Bar.     He  looked  abroad,  found  you  his  foe ; 
Thus  served  ambition  by  the  grandeur  of  his  ward, 
And  vengeance  by  dishonor  to  his  foe  ! 

De  Mau.     The  King's  orders  have  forced  me  to  act  so  strangely, 
That  Julie  thinks  I  love  her  not. 
Richelieu  must  have  told  my  secret  to  the  King. 
I  see  it  all !     Mock  pardon  !     Hurried  nuptials  ! 
Oh,  it  stings  home  !     Ghastly  Vengeance, 
To  thee,  and  thine  august  and  solemn  sister, 
The  unrelenting  Death,  I  dedicate  the  blood 
Of  Armand  Richelieu  !     When  dishonor  reaches 
Our  hearths,  law  dies,  and  murder  takes 
The  angel  shape  of  Justice  !     [Exeunt.] 

[Enter  Richelieu  and  Joseph.] 

Richeljeu.     So,  Joseph,  the  conspirators  are  to  seize  me 
In  my  palace.     Bah  !  in  policy  we  foil 


176  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Gigantic  dangers  not  by  giants,  but  by  dwarfs. 
The  statues  of  our  stately  fortune  are  sculptured 
By  the  chisel  — not  the  axe  !     Beneath  the  rule  of  men 
Entirely  great,  the  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword. 

[Enter  Marion  de  Lorme.] 
Hist !    Joseph,  keep  guard  !     My  faithful  Marion ! 

Marion.     Good,  rny  lord,  the  conspirators  meet 
To-night  in  my  poor  house.     The  Duke  of  Orleans 
Heads  them.     His  Highness  questioned 
If  I  knew  some  brave,  discreet  and  vigilant  man, 
Whose  tongue  could  keep  a  secret,  and  who  had  for  service 
Those  twin  qualities  —  love  of  gold,  and  hate  for  Richelieu. 
I  answered  yes,  my  brother.     He  then  told  me 
To  have  him  ready  to  start  to-night  for  Bouillon's  camp, 
In  Italy. 

Rich.     Now  there  is  danger !     If  he  tamper  with  the  Spaniard, 
And  Louis  list  not  to  my  counsel,  France  is  lost ! 
Who  is  the  brother  you  propose  ?     Any  one  I  choose  ? 
How  will  Francois  do  ?     I  will  call  him. 
[Enter  Francis.]     Francois,  follow  this  lady. 
Take  my  fleetest  steed.     A  packet  will  be  given  you. 
Guard  it  as  your  honor  from  the  hour  you  grasp  it, 
Think  your  guardian  star  rains  fortune  on  you. 

FRAN901S.     If  I  fail  ? 

Rich.     Fail  —  fail !     In  the  lexicon  of  youth, 
Which  fate  reserves  for  a  bright  manhood, 
There  is  no  such  word  as  fail !     [Exit  Francis.] 

I  have  wrought 
Great  uses  out  of  evil  tools,  and  they, 
In  the  time  to  come  may  bask  beneath  the  light 
Which  I  have  stolen  from  the  angry  gods, 
And  warn  their  sons  against  the  glorious  theft, 
Forgetful  of  the  darkness  which  it  broke. 
I  have  shed  blood  —  but  I  have  had  no  foes 
Save  those  the  State  had.    If  my  wrath  was  deadly, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  177 

Tis  that  I  felt  my  couutry  in  uiy  veins. 

And  yet  I  am  not  happy  —  blanched  and  seared 

Before  my  time,  breathing  an  air  of  hate, 

And  seeing  daggers  in  the  eyes  of  men, 

Bearding  kings  and  braved  by  lackeys, 

Murder  at  my  bed  —  and  this  is  power  !     [Enter  Francois  hastily  J 

What,  Francois  !  back  so  soon  ?     Quick  —  the  dispatch  ! 

Boy,  the  packet ! 

Fran,     Kill  me,  my  lord  !     The  Count  de  Baradas 
Gave  the  packet,     But  as  I  hastened  from  the  house, 
Marion  stopped  me.     She  bade  me  lose  no  moment, 
Ere  Richelieu  have  the  packet.     Tell  him,  too, 
Murder  is  in  the  winds  of  night,  and  Orleans 
Swears  ere  the  dawn  the  Cardinal  shall  be  clay  ! 
Then  she  disappeared,  but  a  hand  of  iron  grasped  me, 
Ere  I  could  draw  —  the  prize  was  wrested  from  me, 
And  a  hoarse  voice  gasped,  "  Spy,  I  spare  thee, 
For  this  steel  is  virgin  to  thy  lord  ! " 
With  that  he  vanished.     I  implore  thee  to  acquit 
My  faith,  but  not,  like  him,  to  spare  my  life ! 

Rich.     Who  spake  of  life  ? 
I  bade  thee  grasp  that  treasure  as  thine  honor ; 
A  jewel  worth  whole  hecatombs  of  lives  ! 
Begone  !     Redeem  thine  honor  —  back  to  Marion, 
Or  Baradas,  or  Orleans  —  track  the  robber, 
Regain  the  packet !     Or,  crawl  on  to  age  — 
Age  and  gray  hairs  like  mine  —  and  know 
That  thou  hast  lost  that  which  had  made  thee  great, 
And  saved  thy  country.     See  me  not 
Till  thou'st  bought  the  right  to  seek  me  ! 
Away !     Nay,  cheer  thee  !     Thou  hast  not  failed  yet. 
There's  no  such  word  as  fail ! 

Fran.     Bless  you,  my  lord,  for  that  one  smile  I 
I'll  wear  it  on  my  heart  to  light  me  back 
To  triumph.  [Exit.] 


178  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Rich.     The  poor  youth  I     An  elder  had  asked  for  life  I 
I  hear  a  carriage  ;  steps  nearer  and  nearer. 
If  Huguet  should  turn  traitor  !     [Enter  Julie.]     Julie  ? 
At  this  hour  ?     In  tears  ? 

Julie.     That  man  !     Why  did  I  love  him  ?     Listen  ! 
Late  on  the  marriage  day — even  then  no  more  a  lover, — 
He  left  me  coldly.     Then  his  friend  Baradas  told  me 
That  Adrian  —  that  my  husband  —  knew  the  King  loved  me, 
And  deemed  it  honor  !     Then  I  saw  the  impostor 
Where  I  had  loved  the  god  ! 

Rich.     I  think  thou  wrong'st  thy  husband  ! 

Julie.     Did  you  say  wronged  ?     Prove  it,  my  father,  and  life 
Shall  glow  one  prayer  for  thy  reward 
And  his  forgiveness. 

Rich.    Go  to  thy  apartments,  child ;  you  need  rest.    [Exit  Julie.] 
How  heavy  is  the  air  !     The  vestal  lamp 
Of  the  pale  moon,  weary  with  vigil,  dies 
In  the  still  temple  of  the  silent  night ! 
The  very  darkness  lends  itself  to  fear,  to  treason  — 
[Enter  de  Mauprat.] 

De  Mau.     And  to  death  ! 

Rich.     What  art  thou,  wretch  ?     Ho  !  my  guards  ! 

De  Mau.     Ay,  thy  spirits  forsake  thee,  wizard. 
Thy  bold  men  of  arms  are  my  confederates. 
Stir  but  one  step,  and  knoAV  the  next  —  thy  grave  ! 

Rich.     Thou  liest,  knave  !     I  am  old,  infirm,  most  feeble, 
But  Armand  de  Richelieu  dies  not  by  the  hand  of  man. 
Have  I  3ver  wronged  you  ? 

De  Mau      Thine  acts  are  the  accusers,  Cardinal. 
In  his  hot  youth,  a  soldier,  urged  to  crime 
Against  the  State,  placed  in  your  hands  his  life  ; 
You  did  not  strike  the  blow,  tho'  o'er  his  head 
Hovered  the  axe.     One  day  you  summoned  him, 
Mocked  him  with  smooth  pardon,  showered  wealth  upon  him ! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  179 

ade  an  angel  face  turn  earth  to  Paradise  — 
ras  this  mercy  ?     Cardinal,  no  ! 
ou  saved  him  from  death  for  shame  ; 
ou  gave  him  his  bride  to  snatch  her  from  him 
y  a  worse  ill  than  death  !     Expect  no  mercy  ! 
ehold  De  Mauprat !     [Raising  his  visor.] 
Rich.     To  thy  knees,  and  crawl  for  pardon  ! 
f  I  tell  thee  thou  shalt  live  for  such  remorse, 
hat,  did  I  hate  thee,  I  would  bid  thee  strike 
hat  I  might  be  avenged  !     It  was  to  save  Julie 
rom  the  King  that,  in  my  valor,  I  forgave  thy  crime ', 
nd  when  you  left  her  unprotected,  she  found 
refuge  here  in  the  shelter  which  thine  arms  withheld, 
die  !     Lo,  my  witness  !  [Enter  Julie.] 

De  Mau.     What  marvel  this  !     My  Julie  ?     Thou  ! 
Julie.     Henceforth,  all  bond  between  us  twain 
broken.     Were  it  not  for  this  old  man, 
might  have  lost  the  right  —  now  mine  — ■ 
d  scorn  thee  !     He  did  excuse  thee  in  spite  of  all 
dat  wears  the  face  of  truth.     Thy  friend  — 
fry  confidant  —  Baradas  has  revealed  thy  baseness  ! 
De  Mau.     Baradas  !    Where  is  thy  thunder,  Heaven  ?    Duped ! 
lared !  undone  !     Thou  couldst  not  believe  him ! 
bou  lovest  me  still  ? 

Julie.     Joy  !     Is  it  all  false  ?     Thou  lovest  me  ! 
nd  they  wronged  thee  ! 

Rich.     Why,  the  very  mole's  less  blind  than  thou  ! 
iauprat,  Baradas  loves  thy  wife ;  hoped  to  win  her 
ven  now,  by  your  death.     Ho,  these  schemes  are  glass ! 
lie  very  sun  shines  through  them  ! 

De  Mau.     Ah,  my  lord !     Can  you  forgive  me  ? 

Rich.  Ay,  and  save  you  ! 

De  Mau.     Save  !     Ah,  save  yourself !     The  very  halls 
warm  with  assassins. 


180  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Rich.     How  many  of  my  troops  league  with  you  ? 

De  Mau.  All ! 

Rich.     And  Huguet  ? 

De  Mau.  Is  our  captain  ! 

Rich.  This  comes  of  spies  !     All  ? 

Then  the  lion's  skin's  too  short  to-night  — 
Now  for  the  fox's  !     Follow  me  !     I  have  it ! 
To  my  chamber —  quick !     Blood-hounds,  I  laugh  at  ye ! 
Ha  !  ha  !  we  will  foil  them  !     We'll  baffle  them  yet ! 

De  Mau.     I  must  stay  to  put  Huguet  off  the  track  ! 

[Enter  Huguet  and  conspirators.'] 

Long  live  the  King  !     The  Cardinal  is  dead ! 

[De  Mauprat  throwing  open  the  recess  in  which  is  a  bed  on  which  Ri 

elieu  lies.] 

Huguet.     Are  his  eyes  open  ? 

De  Mau.     As  in  life  !     No  trace  of  blood  reveals  the  crime  ! 
Strangled  in  sleep  !     Found  breathless  in  his  bed ! 
So  runs  the  tale  ! 

Quick  with  the  news  to  Orleans  !     To  horse  ! 
To  horse  !  that  all  France  may  share  your  joy ! 
I  will  stay  to  crush  eager  suspicion. 

[Exit  Huguet.] 
Now  that  Huguet's  gone,  I'll  look  for  Baradas. 
If  I  could  meet  the  traitor,  face  to  face, 
I'd  dig  the  Judas  from  his  heart, 
Though  the  King  should  o'er  him  cast  the  purple  ! 
[Enter  Fran 901s.] 

Fran.     Mauprat,  hold !     Where  is  the ? 

De  Mau.  Well,  what  wouldst  thou  ? 

Fran.     The  despatch  !     The  packet      Look  on  me  ! 
I  serve  the  Cardinal !     Did  you  not  keep  guard 
By  Marion's  house  last  night  ? 


AND  RECITATIONS.  181 

De  Mau.     I  did !     I  have  it  not !     What  does  it  matter  ? 
They  told  me  he  was  here  !     Baradas  ! 
The  traitor  !     Ah  !  now,  villain,  I  have  thee  ! 

Fran.     The  King  is  coming  !     [Enter  Louis.] 

Louis.     Swords  drawn  before  our  very  palace  ? 
Have  our  laws  died  with  Richelieu  ?     \_Enter  Bakadas.] 

Bar.     Pardon,     sire !      My    crime,    but    self-defence    it    was, 
de  Mauprat ! 

Louis.     Dare  he  thus  brave  us  ?     Seize  him  ! 
Disarm  !     To  the  Bastile  !     \_~Enter  Richelieu.] 
What,  Cardinal  ?     A  mock  death  ! 
This  tops  the  infinite  of  insult ! 

Bar.     Fact  in  philosophy  !     Foxes  have  got  nine  lives 
As  well  as  cats  !     Be  firm,  my  liege  ! 

Louis.     I  have  assumed  the  sceptre  ! 
I  shall  wield  it ! 

Rich.     What !     Mauprat  sent  to  the  Bastile, 
On  the  stale  pretext  of  Faviaux  ?     What,  sire ! 
You  know  not  yet  that  this  brave  heart  stood 
Between  foul  treason  and  base  murder  ? 
Sire,  for  your  old  servant's  sake  undo  this  wrong. 
See  !     Let  me  rend  the  sentence  ! 

Louis.     At  your  peril  I     Soldiers,  discharge  your  duty  ! 
Fran.     Mauprat  1     The  despatch  !     Your  fate, 
Foes,  life,  hang  on  a  word  —  to  whom  ? 

De  Mau.     To  Huguet ! 

Fran.     Hush  !     Silence  !     Hope  !     Work,  brain ! 
Beat,  heart !     There's  no  such  word  as  fail  ! 

Rich.     Room,  my  lords  !     Room  ! 
The  minister  of  France  can  need  no  intercession 
With  the  King  f 

Louis.     What  means  this  false  report  of  death, 
Lord  Cardinal  ? 


182  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Rich.     Are  you,  then,  angered,  sire,  that  I  still  live  ? 

Louis,     No  I     But  such  artifice  — 

Rich,     Not  mine.     Look  elsewhere. 
Louis,  my  castle 'swarmed  with  the  assassins. 

Bar.     We  have  punished  them  already  ! 
Huguet  even  now  is  in  the  Bastile  ! 
Oil,  my  lord  !  we  were  prompt  to  avenge  you  ! 
We  were  — 

Rich.     We  ?     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !     You  hear,  my  liege  ! 
What  page,  man,  in  the  last  court  grammar, 
Made  you  a  plural  ?     Count,  you  have  seized 
The  hireling ;  sire,  shall  I  name  the  master  ? 

Louis.     Tush,  my  lord  !     The  old  contrivance  ! 
Ever  does  your  wit  invent  assassins, 
That  ambition  may  slay  rivals. 

Rich.     Rivals,  sire  !     In  what  ?     Service  to  France  ? 
I  have  none  !     Lives  there  the  man  whom  Europe, 
Paled  before  your  glory,  deems  rival 
To  Armand  Richelieu  ? 

Louis.     What  ?     So  haughty  ?     Remember, 
He  who  made  can  unmake ! 

Rich.     Never  !     Your  anger  can  recall  my  trust, 
Annul  my  office,  spoil  me  of  my  lands, 
And  rifle  my  coffers.     But  my  name  ! 
My  deeds  are  royal  in  a  land  beyond  your  sceptre  ! 
Pass  sentence  on  me,  if  you  will ! 
From  kings,  lo  !  I  appeal  to  time  ! 

Louis.     Enough  !     Your  eminence  must  excuse 
A  longer  audience  ;  for  our  conference  this, 
Nor  place — nor  season. 

Rich,     Good,  my  liege  !     For  justice,  all  places  a  temple, 
And  all  seasons  summer.     Do  you  deny  me  justice  ? 
While  in  these  hands  dwelt  empire, 
The  humblest  creature,  the  obscurest  vassal, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  183 

The  very  leper  shrinking  from  the  sun, 

Though  loathed  by  charity,  might  ask  for  justice  ! 

Not  with  the  fawning  tone  and  crawling  mien 

Of  some  I  see  around  you,  counts  and  lords, 

Kneeling  for  favors ;  but  erect  and  loud, 

As  men  who  ask  men's  rights  !     My  liege  !     My  Louis, 

Do  you  refuse  me  audience  even, 

kin  the  pale  presence  of  the  baffled  murderer  ? 

Louis.     Lord  Cardinal,  one  by  one  you  have  severed  from  me 
The  bonds  of  human  love  —  all  near  and  dear 
Marked  out  for  vengeance,  exile  or  the  scaflbld. 
You  find  me  now  amidst  my  trustiest  friends, 
My  closest  kindred ;  you  would  tear  them  from  me ; 
They  murder  you,  forsooth,  since  me  they  love, 
Enough  of  plots  and  treasons  for  one  reign  ! 
Home  !  home  !  and  sleep  away  these  phantoms  ! 

Rich.     Sire,  I  — patience,  Heaven  !  —  Sire,  from  the  foot 
Of  that  great  throne  these  hands  have  raised  aloft, 
Spurn  you  the  gray-haired  man  who  gave  you 
Empire,  and  now  sues  for  safety  ? 

Louis.     No  !     When  we  see  your  eminence,  in  truth, 
At  the  foot  of  the  throne,  we'll  listen  to  you. 

Rich.     Louis,  I  resign.     My  Lord  de  Baradas, 
I  pray  your  pardon,  you  are  to  be  my  successor. 
Your  hand  !     It  trembles  — see,  it  trembles  ! 
The  hand  that  holds  the  destinies  of  nations 
Should  shake  less  !     Poor  Baradas  !     Poor  France  ! 

[Exeunt  Louis  and  Baradas.     Enter  Julie.] 

Julie.     Heaven,  I  thank  thee  !     It  cannot  be, 
Or  this  all-powerful  man  would  not  stand 
Idly  thus. 

Rich.     Julie  !     What  dost  thou  here  ?     Home ! 

Julie.     Home !  is  Adrian  there  ? 
Seized — and  in  your  prison,  too  ?     Think  ! 


184  WERNER'S  READINGS 

He  saved  your  life  !     Your  name  is  infamy 
If  wrong  come  to  him  ! 

Rich.  Be  soothed,  child. 

Julie.     Child  no  more  !     I  am  a  woman ! 
Let  thine  eyes  meet  mine  !     Answer  but  one  word, 
Where  is  my  husband  ? 

Rich.     You  are  Richelieu's  ward, 
A  soldier's  bride.     They  who  insist  on  truth 
Must  outface  fear.     You  ask  me  for  your  husband. 
There,  where  the  clouds  of  Heaven  look  darkest, 
O'er  the  domes  of  the  Bastile  ! 

Julie.     0  mercy  !   mercy  ! 
Save  him,  father  !     Restore  him  ! 
Art  thou  not  the  Cardinal-King  — 
Beneath  whose  light  the  solemn  tides  of  empire 
Ebb  and  flow  ?     Art  thou  not  Richelieu  ? 

Rich.     Yesterday  I  was  ! 
To-day  a  very  weak  old  man  !     To-morrow, 
I  know  not  what !  [Enter  Baradas.] 

Bar.  The  King  has  sent  for  Julie  ! 
Pray  you,  Madame,  obey  the  King  — 
No  cause  for  fear. 

Rich.     She  shall  not  stir.     Mark  where  she  stands.     Around  her 
form 
I  draw  the  awful  circle  of  our  solemn  church  ! 
Set  but  a  foot  within  that  holy  ground, 
And  on  thy  head  —  yea,  though  it  wore  a  crown— 
I  launch  the  curse  of  Rome  ! 

Bar.     I  dare  not  brave  you  ! 
I  do  but  speak  the  orders  of  my  King. 
But  blame  me  not  if  it  should  cost  you  power! 

Rich.     That  my  stake  ! 
Dark  gamester !  what  is  thine  ?     Lose  not  a  trick. 
By  this  time  to-morrow  thou  shalt  have  France, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  185 

)r  I  thy  head !     Ha !    ha  !  how  pale  he  grows  ! 
leaven  save  my  country  !     [Exit  Richelieu.] 

[Enter  Louis.] 

Louis.     Baradas,  we  make  you  minister  of  France. 

Bar.     May  I  deserve  your  trust.     [Aside.]     Until 
fou  sign  your  abdication.     My  liege, 

have  threatened  Julie  by  showing  her 
ler  husband's  death-warrant. 

Louis.     Enough  of  this !     Let  us  attend 
?o  affairs  of  State.     [Aside.]     I  half  repent ! 
fo  successor  to  Richelieu  !     Around  me  thrones  totter. 
?he  soil  he  guards  alone  escapes  the  earthquake. 
[Enter  Secretary.] 

Secretary.     The  secret  correspondence,  sire,  most  urgent  — 
iccounts  of  spies  —  deserters  —  assassins  — 
cheines  against  yourself ! 

Louis.     Myself  ?     [Looking  over  documents.] 
[Enter  Francois.] 

Rich.     Thou  art  bleeding  ! 

Fran.     0  my  lord  !     A  scratch  — 
have  not  failed.     [Gives  the  packet.] 

Rich.     Here,  Louis,  read  for  yourself! 

Louis.     Orleans  and  Baradas  leagued 
Vith  our  foes  —  saints  of  Heaven  ! 
^hese  are  the  men  that  I  have  trusted  ! 
to,  there  !     The  Cardinal  has  fainted  !     Richelieu  ! 
ris  I  resign  !     Reign  thou  —  if  not  for  me, 
i'or  France  ! 

Rich.     For  France,  I'll  live  and  conquer  ! 
io,  there  !  Baradas,  thou  hast  lost  thy  stake. 
Lway  with  him !     [Snatching  de  Mauprat's  death-warrant.] 
lee  here,  de  Mauprat's  death-writ,  Julie, 
hnbrace  your  husband  !     The  King  will  pardon. 


186  WERNER'S  READINGS 

[To  Francois.]     Never  say  fail  again,  brave  boy  ! 
See,  my  liege  —  thro'  plots  and  counterplots  — 

[Seeing  de  Madprat  and  Julie  conversing  apart.] 
Thro'  gain  and  loss,  thro'  glory  and  disgrace, 
Still  the  holy  stream  of  human  happiness 
Grlides  on  ! 

Louis.     And  must  we  thank  for  that  also, 
Our  prime  minister  ? 

Rich.     No  —  let  us  own  it :  There  is  one  above 
Sways  the  harmonious  mystery  of  the  world 
Even  better  than  prime  ministers  ! 


ENOCH  ARDEN. 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


T    ONG  lines  of  cliff  breaking  have  left  a  chasm ; 

And  in  the  chasm  are  foam  and  yellow  sands ; 
Beyond,  red  roofs ;  and  then  a  mouldered  church ; 
Higher,  a  long  street  climbs  to  a  tall-towered  mill. 
Here  on  this  beach,  a  hundred  years  ago, 
Three  children  of  three  houses  —  Annie  Lee, 
The  prettiest  little  damsel  in  the  port, 
And  Philip  Ray,  the  millers  only  son, 
And  Enoch  Arden,  a  rough  sailor's  lad, 
Made  orphan  by  a  winter  shipwreck  —  played 
Among  the  waste  and  lumber  of  the  shore. 
But  when  the  dawn  of  rosy  childhood  past, 
And  the  new  warmth  of  life's  ascending  sun 
Was  felt  by  either,  either  fixed  his  heart 
On  that  one  girl ;  and  Enoch  spoke  his  love, 
But  Philip  loved  in  silence ;  and  the  girl 
Seemed  kinder  unto  Philip  than  to  him. 
But  she  loved  Enoch,  though  she  knew  it  not, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  187 

And  would,  if  asked,  deny  it.     Enoch  set 

A  purpose  evermore  before  his  eyes 

To  hoard  all  savings  to  the  uttermost, 

To  purchase  his  own  boat,  and  make  a  home 

For  Annie  ;  and  so  prospered  that  at  last 

A  luckier  fisherman  there  did  not  breathe 

For  leagues  along  that  breaker-beaten  coast 

Than  Enoch.     Likewise  had  he  served  a  year 

On  board  a  merchantman,  and  made  himself 

Full  sailor ;  and  all  men  looked  upon  him 

With  favor.     Ere  he  touched  his  one  and  twentieth  May 

He  purchased  his  own  boat,  and  made  a  home 

For  Annie,  neat  and  nestlike,  half  way  up 

The  narrow  street  that  clambered  toward  the  mill. 

Then,  on  a  golden  autumn  eventide, 

The  younger  people,  making  holiday, 

Went  nutting  to  the  hazels.     Philip  stayed 

(His  father  lying  sick  and  needing  him) 

An  hour  behind ;  but  as  he  climbed  the  hill, 

Just  where  the  prone  edge  of  the  wood  began 

To  feather  toward  the  hollow,  saw  the  pair, 

Enoch  and  Annie,  sitting  hand  in  hand, 

His  large  gray  eyes  and  weather-beaten  face 

All-kindled  by  a  still  and  sacred  fire  ; 

And  in  their  faces  Philip  read  his  doom. 

So  these  were  wed  ;  and  merrily  rang  the  bells, 
And  merrily  ran  the  years  —  seven  happy  years. 
Then  came  a  change,  as  all  things  human  change. 
Ten  miles  to  northward  of  the  narrow  port 
Opened  a  larger  haven.     And,  still  more, 
Another  hand  crept  too  across  his  trade. 
And  while  he  prayed,  the  master  of  the  ship 
Enoch  had  served  in,  hearing  his  mischance, 
Came,  reporting  his  vessel  China  bound, 
And  wanting  yet  a  boatswain  —  would  he  go  ? 


188  WERNER'S  READINGS 

And  Enoch  all  at  once  assented  to  it, 
And  moving  homeward  came  on  Annie  pale. 
Forward  she  started  with  a  happy  cry, 
And  laid  her  feeble  infant  in  his  arms, 
Whom  Enoch  took  and  fondled  fatherlike, 
But  had  no  heart  to  break  his  purposes 
To  Annie  till  the  morrow,  when  he  spoke. 
Then  for  the  first  she  fought  against  his  will. 
But  Enoch  faced  the  morning  of  farewell 
Brightly  and  boldly.     All  his  Annie's  fears, 
Save  as  his  Annie's,  were  a  laughter  to  him, 
Yet  prayed  he  for  blessing  on  his  wife  and  babes 
Whatever  came  to  him.     And  then  he  said : 
"  Annie,  this  voyage,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
Will  bring  fair  weather  yet  to  all  of  us. 
Come,  Annie,  come,  cheer  up  before  I  go." 
He  cast  strong  arms  about  his  drooping  wife, 
And  kissed  his  wonder-stricken  little  ones ; 
And  from  the  babe,  the  sickly  one,  who  slept, 
She  clipped  a  tiny  curl,  and  this  he  kept 
Through  all  his  future  ;  but  now  hastily  caught 
His  bundle,  waved  his  hand  and  went  his  way. 

Now  the  third  child,  howsoe'er  it  was, 

After  a  lingering,  ere  she  was  aware, 

Like  a  caged  bird  escaping  suddenly, 

The  little,  innocent  soul  flitted  away. 

In  that  same  week  when  Annie  buried  it, 

Philip's  true  heart,  which  hungered  for  her  peace, 

Smote  him  for  having  kept  aloof  so  long. 

"  Surely,"  said  Philip,  "  I  may  see  her  now, 

May  be  some  little  comfort."     Therefore  went. 

But  Annie,  fresh  from  burial  of  her  child, 

Cared  not  to  look  on  any  human  face. 

Then  Philip  falt'ring  said :  "  Annie,  I  came 

To  ask  a  favor  —  to  speak  of  what  he  wished, 


AND  RECITATIONS.  189 

Enoch,  your  husband ;  I  have  ever  said 
You  chose  the  best  among  us  —  a  strong  man. 
And  wherefore  did  he  go  this  weary  way, 
And  leave  you  lonely  ?    Not  to  see  the  world  — 
But  for  the  wherewithal  to  give  his  babes 
A  better  bringing  up  than  his  had  been. 
That  was  his  wish ;  and  if  he  come  again 
Vexed  will  he  be  to  find  the  precious  hours 
Were  lost ;  and  it  would  vex  him  in  his  grave, 
If  he  could  know  his  babes  were  running  wild, 
Like  colts  about  the  waste.     So,  Annie,  now  — 
Now  let  me  put  the  boy  and  girl  to  school ; 
This  is  the  favor  that  I  came  to  ask." 
Then  Philip  put  the  boy  and  girl  to  school 
And  bought  them  needful  books,  and  every  way 
Made  himself  theirs ;  and  though  for  Annie's  sake, 
Fearing  the  lazy  gossip  of  the  port, 
He  seldom  crossed  her  threshold,  yet  he  sent 
Gifts  by  the  children,  garden-herbs  and  fruit, 
And  with  some  pretext  of  fineness  in  the  meal, 
Flour  from  his  mill  that  whistled  on  the  waste. 

It  chanced  one  evening  that  the  children  longed 

To  go  with  others,  nutting,  to  the  wood, 

And  Annie  would  go  with  them ;  then  they  begged 

For  Father  Philip,  as  they  called  him,  too, 

And  when  the  children  plucked  at  him  to  go, 

He  laughed  and  yielded  readily  to  their  wish  ; 

But  after  scaling  half  the  weary  way, 

All  Annie's  force  failed.     "  Let  me  rest,"  she  said. 

So  Philip  rested  with  her  well-content. 

At  last  he  said,  lifting  his  honest  forehead, 

"Annie,  there  is  a  thing  upon  my  mind ; 

It  is  beyond  all  hope,  against  all  chance, 

That  he  who  left  you  ten  long  years  ago, 

Should  still  be  living ;  well,  then  —  let  me  speak  — 


190  WERNER'S  READINGS 

I  wish  you  for  my  wife."     "  Can  one  love  twice  ?  " 

Answered  Annie.    "  Can  you  be  ever  loved 

As  Enoch  was  ?     What  is  it  that  you  ask  ?  " 

"  I  am  content,"  he  answered,  "  to  be  loved 

A  little  after  Enoch."     "Dear  Philip,  wait  awhile: 

If  Enoch  comes  —  but  Enoch  will  not  come  — 

Yet  wait  a  year,  a  year  is  not  so  long  — 

I  am  bound :  you  have  my  promise  —  in  a  year!  " 

And  Philip  answered  :  "  I  will  bide  my  year." 

So  these  were  wed,  and  merrily  rang  the  bells, 

But  never  merrily  beat  Annie's  heart, 

A  footstep  seemed  to  fall  beside  her  path, 

A  whisper  on  her  ear. 

And  where  was  Enoch  ?     Prosperously  sailed 

The  ship  "  Grood  Fortune,"  slipped  across  the  world. 

Less  lucky  her  home-voyage  ;  at  first,  indeed, 

Through  many  a  fair  sea-circle,  scarce  rocking, 

Till  storms  came,  such  as  drove  her  under  moonless  heavens, 

And  hard  upon  the  cry  of  "Breakers  "  came 

The  crash  of  ruin,  and  the  loss  of  all 

But  Enoch  and  two  others.     Half  the  night 

Buoyed  upon  floating  tackle  and  broken  spars, 

These  drifted,  stranding  on  an  isle  at  morn. 

And  one,  the  youngest,  hardly  more  than  boy, 

Hurt  in  that  night  of  sudden  ruin  and  wreck, 

Lay  lingering  out  a  three-years'  death-in-life. 

They  could  not  leave  him.     After  he  was  gone, 

Of  two  remaining,  one  fell  sun-stricken, 

And  Enoch  lived  alone. 

Thus  over  Enoch's  early-silvering  head, 
The  seasons  came  and  went,  year  after  year, 
His  hopes  to  see  his  own  had  not  yet  perished, 
When  his  lonely  doom  came  sudden  to  an  end. 
Another  ship  blown  by  the  baffling  winds, 
Stayed  by  this  isle,  not  knowing  where  she  lay. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  191 

Aud  ever  as  lie  mingled  with  the  crew, 

And  heard  them  talking,  his  long-bounden  tongue 

Was  loosened,  till  he  made  them  understand. 

Whom,  when  their  casks  were  filled  they  took  aboard ; 

And  there  the  tale  he  uttered  brokenly, 

Scarce  credited  at  first,  but  more  and  more, 

Amazed  and  melted  all  who  listened  to  it ; 

Then  moving  up  the  coast  they  landed  him 

Ev'n  in  that  harbor  whence  he  sailed  before. 

There  Enoch  spoke  no  word  to  any  one, 

But  homeward  —  home  —  what  home  ?     Had  he  a  home  ? 

Last,  as  it  seemed,  a  great  mist-blotted  light 

Flared  on  him,  and  he  came  upon  the  place. 

Then  down  the  long  street  having  slowly  stolen, 

His  eyes  upon  the  stones,  he  reached  the  home 

Where  Annie  lived  and  loved  him,  and  his  babes, 

In  those  far-off  seven  happy  years  were  born ; 

But  finding  neither  light  nor  murmur  there, 

(A  bill  of  sale  gleamed  through  the  drizzle)  crept 

Still  downward  thinking  "  dead  or  dead  to  me  ?" 

Onward  he  went  seeking  a  tavern  which 

Of  old  he  knew  —  so  ruinously  old, 

He  thought  it  must  have  gone  ;  but  he  was  gone 

Who  kept  it,  and  his  widow,  Miriam  Lane, 

With  daily-dwindling  profits  held  the  house. 

There  Enoch  rested  silent  many  days  ; 

But  Miriam  Lane  was  good  and  garrulous ; 

Not  knowing  —  Enoch  was  so  brown,  so  bowed  — 

She  told  him  all  the  story  of  his  house  : 

"  Enoch,  poor  man,  was  cast  away  and  lost." 

He,  shaking  his  gray  head  pathetically, 

Repeated,  muttering,  "  Cast  away  and  lost." 

But  Enoch  yearned  to  see  her  face  again, 
Until  the  thought  haunted  and  harassed  him, 
And  drove  him  forth  the  dull  November  eve. 


192  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Now,  Philip's  dwelling  fronted  on  the  street, 

With  one  small  gate  that  opened  on  the  waste. 

And  cups  and  silver  on  the  burnished  board 

Sparkled  and  shone,  so  genial  was  the  hearth. 

And  on  the  right  hand  of  the  hearth  he  saw 

Philip,  the  slighted  suitor  of  old  times, 

Stout,  rosy,  with  his  babe  across  his  knees ; 

And  o'er  her  second  father  stooped  a  girl, 

A  later  but  a  loftier  Annie  Lee, 

Fair-haired  and  tall,  and  from  her  lifted  hand 

Dangled  a  length  of  ribbon  and  a  ring 

To  tempt  the  babe,  who  reared  his  creasy  arms 

Caught  at  and  ever  missed  it,  and  they  laughed. 

And  on  the  left  hand  of  the  hearth  he  saw 

The  mother  glancing  often  toward  her  babe, 

But  turning  now  and  then  to  speak  with  him, 

Her  son,  who  stood  beside  her,  tall  and  strong. 

Now,  when  the  dead  man  come  to  life  beheld 

His  wife,  his  wife  no  more,  and  saw  the  babe, 

Hers,  yet  not  his,  upon  the  father's  knee, 

And  all  the  warmth,  the  peace,  the  happiness, 

And  his  own  children  tall  and  beautiful, 

And  him,  that  other,  reigning  in  his  place, 

Lord  of  his  rights  and  of  his  children's  love, 

Then  he,  though  Miriam  Lane  had  told  him  all, 

Because  things  seen  are  mightier  than  things  heard, 

Staggered  and  shook,  holding  the  branch,  and  feared 

To  send  abroad  a  shrill  and  terrible  cry, 

Which  in  one  moment,  like  the  blast  of  doom, 

Would  shatter  all  the  happiness  of  the  hearth. 

He,  therefore,  turning  softly  like  a  thief, 

And  feeling  all  along  the  garden-wall, 

Crept  to  the  gate,  and  opened  it  and  closed 

Behind  him,  and  came  out  upon  the  waste  ; 

And  falling  prone  upon  the  earth  he  prayed : 

"  Too  hard  to  bear !     0  blessed  Saviour,  Thou 


AND  RECITATIONS.  198 

That  didst  uphold  me  on  my  lonely  isle, 

Uphold  me,  Father,  in  my  loneliness 

A  little  longer  !     Aid  me  ;  give  me  strength 

Not  to  tell  her,  never  to  let  her  know. 

Never !     No  father's  kiss  for  me  —  the  girl 

So  like  her  mother  ;  and  the  boy,  my  son  !  " 

And  as  the  year  rolled  round  to  meet  the  day 

When  Enoch  had  returned,  a  languor  came, 

Weakening  the  man  till  he  could  do  no  more. 

And  Enoch  bore  his  weakness  cheerfully, 

As  he  saw  death  dawning  and  the  close  of  all ; 

For  through  that  dawning  gleamed  a  kindlier  hope 

On  Enoch,  thinking  :  "After  I  am  gone 

Then  she  may  learn  I  loved  her  to  the  last." 

He  called  aloud  for  Miriam  Lane,  and  said : 

"  Woman,  I  have  a  secret  —  only  swear, 

Before  I  tell  you  —  swear  upon  the  Book 

Not  to  reveal  it  till  you  see  me  dead." 

"  Dead  !  "  clamored  the  good  woman  ;  "  hear  him  talk  t 

I  warrant,  man,  that  we  shall  bring  you  round." 

Yet  on  the  Book,  half-frighted,  Miriam  swore. 

Then  Enoch  told  her  all.     On  the  third  night 

While  Enoch  slumbered,  motionless  and  pale, 

There  came  so  loud  a  calling  of  the  sea, 

That  all  the  houses  in  the  haven  rang. 

He  woke,  he  rose,  he  spread  his  arms  abroad, 

Crying  with  a  loud  voice,  "  A  sail !  a  sail ! 

I  am  saved  !  "  and  so  fell  back  and  spake  no  more. 

So  passed  the  strong,  heroic  soul  away  ; 

And  when  they  buried  him  the  little  port 

Had  seldom  seen  a  costlier  funeral. 


1H  WERNERS  READINGS 

THE   RACE. 


LTOF   TOLSTOI. 


TIT- HEN  Vronsky  looked  at  his  watch,  it  was  half-past  five. 
"  On  this  day  there  were  to  be  several  races,  and  in  the  last 

he  was  to  take  part.  When  he  reached  his  quarters  no  one  was 
there  except  his  valet.  Everybody  had  gone  to  the  races.  He 
noticed  near  the  stable  Makhotin's  white-footed  chestnut  Gladiator 
which  they  were  leading  out. 

"Where  is  Cord  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  groom. 

"In  the  stable;  he  is  fixing  the  saddle." 

Then  appeared  Frou-Frou.  Vronsky  gave  a  quick  glance  at  his 
horse,  as  she  stood  trembling  in  every  limb. 

The  two-verst  dash  was  just  at  an  end.  The  crowd  flowed  in 
from  all  sides.  The  horses  were  getting  ready  for  the  hurdle  race. 
The  grooms  were  leading  back  the  horses,  wearied  by  the  race 
which  they  had  run  ;  and,  one  by  one,  those  intended  for  the  next 
course  appeared  on  the  ground.  Frou-Frou  came  out  stepping 
high.  Vronsky  had  scarcely  time  to  make  some  adjustment  of  the 
saddle,  when  those  who  were  to  compete  in  the  hurdle  race  were 
called  to  receive  their  numbers.  They  approached,  seventeen  men 
in  all.     Vronsky's  number  was  seven. 

"  Mount !  "  was  the  cry. 

The  groom  stood  by  the  mare's  head  holding  the  reins  in  his 
hand.  Frou-Frou  shivered  as  though  she  had  an  attack  of  fever. 
Her  master  cast  a  final  glance  on  his  rivals ;  he  knew  he  should 
not  see  them  again  until  the  race  was  over.  G-ulkum,  one  of  the 
best  racers,  was  turning  around  and  around  his  bay  stallion  with- 
out being  able  to  mount.  A  little  hussar,  in  tight  trousers,  was  off 
on  a  gallop,  bent  double  over  his  horse  in  English  fashion.  Prince 
Kuzofief,  white  as  a  sheet,  was  trying  to  mount  a  thorough-bred 
mare.  He  was  timid,  still  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  ride. 
They  exchanged  glances  and  Vronsky  gave  him  an  encouraging 
nod.  One  only  now  he  failed  to  see  —  his  most  redoubtable  rival, 
Makhotin,  on  Gladiator,  was  not  there. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  195 

"Don't  be  in  haste,"  said  Cord,  "and  don't  forget  when  you 
come  to  a  hurdle  not  to  pull  back  or  spur  on  your  horse ;  let  her 
take  her  own  way.  If  possible,  take  the  lead,  but  don't  be  dis- 
couraged if,  for  a  few  moments,  you  are  behind." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  Vronsky.  The  horse  did  not  have  time  to 
stir  before  he  gracefully  and  firmly  took  his  seat  on  the  saddle. 
Then  he  arranged  the  double  reins  between  his  fingers,  and  Cord 
let  go  the  animal's  head.  Frou-Frou  stretched  out  her  neck,  and 
started  off  at  an  easy,  elastic  pace,  balancing  her  rider  on  her 
strong,  flexible  back.  They  were  approaching  the  river's  bank, 
where  the  starting-post  was  placed.  Vronsky,  preceded  by  some, 
followed  by  others,  suddenly  heard  on  the  track  the  gallop  of  a 
horse,  and  Gladiator  with  Makhotin  on  his  back,  dashed  by. 

The  course  was  a  great  ellipse  with  nine  obstacles  upon  it  —  the 
river  ;  a  high  barrier  ;  in  front  of  the  pavilion  a  dry  ditch  ;  a  ditch 
filled  with  water ;  a  steep  ascent ;  an  Irish  banquette,  which  is  the 
most  difficult  of  all,  composed  of  an  embankment  covered  with 
twigs,  behind  which  is  concealed  a  ditch,  obliging  the  horseman  to 
leap  two  obstacles  at  once  ;  then  three  more  ditches  ;  and,  finally, 
the  goal  opposite  the  pavilion  again. 

At  last,  the  signal  was  given,  "  Go  !  "  and  the  riders  spurred 
their  horses.     All  eyes  were  directed  toward  the  races. 

"There  they  go  !  "  "There  they  come  !  "  was  shouted  on  all 
sides.  And  in  order  to  follow  them,  the  spectators  rushed  singly 
or  in  groups  toward  the  places  where  they  could  get  a  better  view. 
Frou-Frou,  nervous  at  first,  lost  ground,  and  several  of  the  horses 
were  ahead  of  her ;  but  Vronsky,  trying  to  calm  her  as  she  pulled 
on  the  bridle,  soon  outstripped  the  three  who  had  won  on  him,  and 
now  had  as  competitors  only  Gladiator,  who  was  a  whole  length 
ahead,  and  the  pretty  Diana,  on  whose  back  clung  the  unhappy 
Kuzofief,  not  knowing  whether  he  was  dead  or  alive. 

Gladiator  and  Diana  leaped  the  reka  at  almost  one  and  the  same 
moment ;  Frou-Frou  lightly  leaped  behind  them,  as  though  she  had 
wings.  While  in  the  air,  Vronsky  caught  a  glimpse  of  Kuzofief 
almost  under  the  feet  of  his  horse ;  and  heard,  after  the  race,  how 
he  had  loosened  his  reins  as  Diana  jumped,  and  the  horse  had 


196  WERNERS  READINGS 


stumbled,  throwing  him  to  the  ground.  At  this  time,  he  only  saw 
that  Frou-Frou  was  going  to  land  on  Diana's  head.  But  Frou- 
Frou,  like  a  falling  cat,  making  a  desperate  effort,  landed  beyond 
the  fallen  rider. 

"  0  my  beauty !  "  exclaimed  Vronsky.  After  this  he  gained  full 
control  of  his  horse,  even  held  her  back,  meaning  to  leap  the  great 
hurdle  behind  Makhotin,  whom  he  had  no  hope  of  outstripping 
before  they  reached  the  long  stretch  free  of  obstacles.  This  great 
hurdle  was  built  in  front  of  the  Imperial  Pavilion.  The  Emperor, 
the  Court,  and  an  immense  throng  were  watching.  Vronsky  saw 
only  his  horse's  ears,  and  the  ground  flying  under  him,  and  Gladi- 
ator's flanks  and  the  white  feet  beating  the  ground  in  cadence, 
always  maintaining  the  same  distance  between  them.  Gladiator 
flew  at  the  hurdle,  gave  a  whisk  of  his  tail,  and,  without  having 
touched  the  hurdle,  vanished  from  Vronsky's  eyes. 
"  Bravo !  "  cried  a  voice. 

At  the  same  instant  the  planks  of  the  hurdle  flashed  before  his 
eyes,  his  horse  leaped  without  breaking ;  but  he  heard  behind  him 
a  loud  crash.  Frou-Frou,  excited  by  the  sight  of  Gladiator,  had 
leaped  too  soon,  and  had  struck  the  hurdle  with  the  shoes  on  her 
hind  feet.  Her  gait  was  unchanged ;  and  the  distance  had  not 
increased  or  diminished  between  them,  as  Vronsky  again  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Gladiator's  crupper,  his  short  tail  and  his  white  feet. 
Frou-Frou  seemed  to  have  the  same  thought  as  her  master,  for  she 
increased  her  speed  and  gained  on  Makhotin  by  trying  to  take  the 
inside  track.  But  Makhotin  did  not  yield  the  advantage.  Frou- 
Frou  changed  and  took  the  farther  side  of  the  slope.  Her  shoulder 
closed  with  Gladiator's  flanks.  For  a  few  seconds  they  flew  along 
almost  side  by  side ;  but  in  order  to  take  the  outer  side  of  the 
circle,  Vronsky  urged  Frou-Frou  on  just  as  they  passed  the  divide, 
and  on  the  descent  managed  to  get  the  lead.  As  h£  drew  near,  it 
seemed  to  him  Makhotin  smiled.  Though  he  was  behind,  Vronsky 
could  hear  the  regular  rhythm  of  the  stallion's  feet  and  his  hurried 
breathing. 

The  next  two  obstacles,  the  ditch  and  the  hurdle,  were  easily 
passed ;  but  Gladiator's  gallop  came  nearer.     Vronsky  gave  Frou- 


AND  RECITATIONS.  197 

Frou  the  spur ;  the  sound  of  G-ladiator's  hoof-beats  grew  fainter. 
He  now  had  the  lead  and  felt  sure  of  success.  A  single  serious 
obstacle  remained  — the  Irish  banquette  —  which,  if  cleared,  would 
give  him  the  victory.  Vronsky  was  just  lifting  his  whip,  when  it 
'occurred  to  him  that  Frou-Frou  knew  what  to  do.  The  beautiful 
creature  gave  a  start,  rose  from  the  ground,  cleared  the  ditch,  and 
far  beyond,  then  fell  again  into  the  measure  of  her  pace. 

"  Bravo !  Bravo  !  "  cried  the  throng. 

The  last  ditch  was  left.  Anxious  to  come  in  far  ahead  of  the 
others,  Vronsky  began  to  urge  his  horse  by  falling  into  her  motions 
and  leaning  far  over  her  head.  He  felt  she  was  beginning  to  be 
exhausted ;  her  neck  and  sides  were  wet,  her  breath  was  short  and 
gasping.  Still  he  was  sure  she  would  reach  the  goal.  Only  because 
he  felt  himself  near  the  end,  and  by  the  extraordinary  smoothness 
of  her  motion  did  he  realize  how  much  she  had  increased  her  speed. 
The  ditch  was  cleared  —  how,  he  did  not  know.  She  cleared  it 
like  a  bird. 

But  Vronsky  felt  to  his  horror  that  instead  of  taking  the  swing 
of  his  horse,  he  had  a  wrong  motion  in  falling  back  in  the  saddle. 
He  knew  something  horrible  had  happened  of  which  he  could  not 
get  any  clear  idea.  But  there  flashed  by  him  a  roan  steed  with 
white  feet,  —  and  Makhotin  was  the  winner  ! 

Frou-Frou  stumbled.  Vronsky  had  scarcely  time  to  clear  him- 
self when  the  horse  fell  on  her  side,  panting  painfully,  making 
vain  efforts  with  her  delicate,  foam-covered  neck  to  rise.  He  saw 
only  one  thing  —  Gladiator  was  far  ahead  and  he  was  standing 
there  alone  before  his  defeated  Frou-Frou,  who  stretched  her  head 
toward  him,  and  looked  at  him  with  her  beautiful  eyes.  He  pulled 
on  the  reins ;  the  poor  animal  struggled  and  tried  to  get  on  her 
legs,  but  fell  back  all  of  a  tremble.  Vronsky,  pale  with  rage, 
kicked  her  to  force  her  to  rise.  She  did  not  move,  but  gazed  at 
her  master  with  speaking  looks. 

"A-h !  what  have  I  done  ? "  cried  he,  taking  her  head  in  his 
hands.     "  What  have  I  done  ?  " 

By  the  movement  he  had  made  in  the  saddle  he  had  broken  her 
back! 


198  WERNERS  READINGS 

PONTIUS  PILATE. 


EDWIN   ARNOLD. 


[Claudia,  Pilate's  wife,  tells  him  of  her  dreams  or  visions  concerning  Jeaua, 
and  the  portents  that  followed  His  crucifixion.] 


"  pvIDST  thou  hear, 

*~*     The  talk  ran  that  he  had  not  died  at  all, 
Or,  dying,  glided  back  to  life  again  ; 

Was  seen;  ate,  drank,  walked,  talked — man  among  mea — 
And,  lastly,  'scaped  from  sight  ?     Those  whom  He  left, 
A  band  of  honest  ones,  give  stoutly  forth 
He  was  caught  up  in  the  clouds,  snatched  to  the  blue, 
And,  day  by  day,  my  slave-girls  say,  this  grows, 
Making  a  sect  which  hath  no  dread  of  death  ; 
But  will  spend  life  and  breath  and  gold  and  pains 
To  succor  any  wretch,  because  they  hold 
This  '  Christ '  did  die  for  him  —  grows,  good  my  lord, 
Not  only  here,  but  in  the  coasts  and  isles, 
And  toucheth  Athens  and  hath  crept  to  Rome." 

"  There,  too  ?  "  broke  Pontius,  "  must  I  find  at  Rome  — 

Despite  the  stony  tomb,  the  guards  we  set, 

That  face  which  fills  each  night  with  dreams  for  me  ? 

Sits  with  me  in  my  tent,  my  judgment  hall, 

My  banquet-room,  my  bed-place  ?    "Watches  me 

With  those  great  eyes  which  do  not  hate  or  blast, 

But  send  a  keen  light  to  my  inmost  self 

Where  I  read  :  '  This  is  Pontius,  Fortune's  slave.' 

For  Caesar's  fear,  sooth,  why  should  I  have  played 

Butcher  to  Caiaphus  ?     Note,  Claudia, 

Know  any  of  ye  here  of  any  wight 

Who  loved  the  Nazarene,  and  followed  Him, 

And  cleaves,  distraught,  to  such  wild  fancy  yet, 

That  cross  and  spear  and  gravestone  did  not  end  ?  " 

"  Great  sir  !  "  a  Syrian  handmaid  gave  reply, 
"  This  is  the  house  is  called  '  Megaddela's,' 


AND  RECITATIONS.  199 

Named  as  some  will  from  Magdal,  where  we  lie, 

And  others  from  the  braided  locks  she  wore 

Who  lives  house  mistress  here.     They  told  us  in  the  town, 

This  dame  much  honored  now  for  noble  works 

"Was  devil-haunted  before  the  Nazarene 

Tamed  her  and  taught  her  ;  and  she  grew  His  friend, 

Closest  amid  the  faithful.     Is't  thy  will 

We  bid  her  to  this  presence  ?  "  J 

Pontius  said : 
"  I  might  command,  for  still  I  bear  my  seal ; 
Authority  sits  yet  upon  my  lips. 
But  here  and  now  I  soften.     Say  to  her 
The  Procurator,  guest  and  friend,  entreats 
Speech  with  this  Lady  Miriam." 

Thus  met 
She  who  most  loved  Him,  he  who  rendered  Him 
To  death  —  Pontius  and  Mary. 

For  now  most  meek 
The  proud,  pale,  bended  face,  the  folded  palms, 
The  knees  touching  the  pavement,  as  she  said : 
"  The  Roman  Lord,  who  may  command,  hath  prayed 
Speech  with  his  servant.     She  must  needs  obey. 
Hostess  and  subject,  I  am  Miriam." 

"  Wottest  thou  who  lam?"  asked  Pontius. 
The  flame  of  those  old  fires  a  little  leaped; 
The  fair  hill  shook  again  with  by-gone  storms 
One  moment,  while  she  murmured  :  "  Time  hath  been 
When,  with  a  curse,  or  by  my  girdle  knife 
The  answer  of  thy  handmaid  had  been  given. 
Now  I  have  the  grace  to  say.  I  hate  thee  not, 
But  pray  His  peace  for  thee.     Did  He  not  pray, 
*  Father,  forgive  them  ?  '     Yea,  I  know  thee  well, 
'Twas  thou  didst  send  my  Master  to  the  cross !  " 

"  Hast  thou  forgiven,  who  didst  love  Him  so, 
That  which  my  well-worn  soul,  careless  of  blood, 


200  WERNER'S  READINGS 

Pardons  not  to  itself  ? "  quoth  Pontius. 

And  Mary  said  :  "I  could  not  love  Him  so, 

Nor  rightly  worship,  nor  live  to-day  — 

As  always  I  must  live  —  on  the  dear  food 

Of  His  true  lips,  nor  trust  to  go  to  Him 

The  way  He  went,  if  I  forgot  His  word — 

'  Love  ye  your  enemies.'     Remembering  that 

I  bear  to  look  on  thee,  Roman  lord, 

Remembering  what  we  heard  Him  say  at  last : 

'  Forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do  1 ' " 

"Nay,  but  I  knew  !  "  quoth  Pontius.     "  Whereunto 
Prayed  thus  thy  Rabbi  ?     What  new  god  had  He  ? 
What  god  hast  thou  greater  than  Jove  —  to  nod, 
And  so  undo  past  deeds  which  have  been  done 
And  as  thou  sayest  —  forgive  ?  " 

"  That  which  befalls," 
She  gave  reply,  "  befalls  not  otherwise 
Than  as  it  hath  been  willed.     He  made  us  know 
There  cometh  to  the  ground  no  little  fowl, 
No  sparrow  of  the  house-top,  but  was  cared  for. 
And  the  flowers  and  lowly  grass  — 
Which  are  to-morrow  for  the  wayside  fire  — 
Have  raiment  fore-provided  them  to  wear, 
Brighter  than  Solomon's.     If  not  one  life 
Goes  anywhere  to  death,  save  for  good  use, 
And  by  the  over-arching  Power  allowed, 
Under  the  vast  law  of  love,  He,  most  of  all, 
Died  for  love's  sake,  and  was  ordained  to  die, 
Whom  thou  didst  doom.     Yet  thou  thyself  wert  doomed 
To  do  love  that  sad  service,  slaying  Him 
Who  could  not  die,  but  freeth  all  from  death. 
We  hate  thee  not,  but  pity  thee,  and  pray  for  thee." 

"  Yea,"  Pontius  mused,  "  He  spake  to  me  of  power 
Lent  from  above,  and  not  from  Jove  or  Rome  ! 


AND  RECITATIONS.  201 

What  hindered  that  I  should  not  use  it  then 

To  have  thy  peace  this  night,  to  taste  full  greatness 

Not  groan  with  littleness  of  majesty  ?  " 

She  answered:  "That  which  hindered  was  thyself 

More  feared  of  Caesar  than  of  wrongfulness  ; 

And  that  which  hindered  was  thy  desire  to  win 

Favor  of  men  instead  of  praise  from  Heaven, 

Whose  still  voice  whispered  to  thy  vexed  will  in  vain. 

He  spake  to  us,  '  Lay  up  no  treasures 

Where  moth  and  rust  doth  corrupt  and  thieves  do  steal, 

But  lay  it  up  in  Heaven.' " 

Pilate  broke  in  i  "  I  would  give  much  sesterces 

To  buy  that  ill-time  back,  albeit,  before, 

Death  never  spoiled  my  slumbers  !     What  saidst  thou 

That,  slaying  Him,  we  could  not  kill  ?     Thy  brow 

Weareth  no  band  of  madness,  yet  thy  speech 

Sounds  rank  unreason." 

"Have  I  leave,"  she  asked, 

"  For  my  great  Master's  sake  more  to  speak  ?  " 

"  I  pray  thee  very  humbly,"  Pontius  said, 

"  To  speak  as  thou  shalt  deign." 

Thereat  she  rose 
Stateliest,  and  light  of  living  love  and  truth 
Made  fairer  her  fair  face,  kindled  her  eyes 
To  lovelier  lustre,  while  she  told  the  things 
Which  had  befallen  after  Calvary ; 
How,  surely,  with  the  sad  days  ending  there, 
New  days  were  dawned  and  hope  unknown  to  earth; 
How  He  walked  here,  the  shadow  of  Him  love, 
The  speech  of  Him  soft  music ;  and  His  step 
A  benediction ;  making  sick  folks  whole, 
The  lame  to  walk,  the  lepers  to  go  clean, 
And  taking  back  the  dead  from  death,  by  might 
Of  some  deep  secret  which  He  had  from  Heaven ; 
Until  —  at  that  hard  triumph  of  the  cross, 


202  WERNER'S  READINGS 

In  hour  and  way,  and  by  the  appointed  hands  — 

He  Himself  passed,  mild  and  majestical, 

Through  death's  black  gate,  whose  inner  side  none  saw 

Before  He  set  it  wide,  golden  and  glad, 

In  the  unfolded  flower  cup.     "  Which  blest  buds," 

Spake  she,  "  shall  blossom  ever  more  and  more 

For  all  flesh  living,  till  the  full  fruit  rounds, 

And  there  be  '  Peace  on  earth  and  good  will ! '  " 

But  many  drew  into  the  marble  court, 
Silently,  one  by  one,  hearing  those  words 
Fearless  and  sure,  spoken  high  to  Pontius, 
Found  each  echo  in  the  air.     But  Pilate  leaped 
Fierce  from  his  place,  with  visage  writhed  and  white. 
"  Call  them  to  horse  !  "  he  cried,  "  for  I  will  ride 
To  Sepphoris,  before  the  sun  is  high, 
If  spurs  can  prick  !     One  other  watch  spent  here 
Will  brand  me  Nazarene !  " 


AND  RECITATIONS.  203 

NOTES  ON  AUTHORS. 


Alighieri  Dante  (or  Durante),  (1215-1321)  —Born  in  Florence,  de- 
scended from  an  ancient  family,  but  not  one  of  the  highest  rank.  He  was 
born  under  the  sign  of  the  twins,  considered  by  astrologers  as  favorable  to 
literature  and  science.  We  know  little  of  Dante's  boyhood  except  that  he  was 
a  hard  student.  Boccaccio  tells  us  that  he  became  very  familiar  with  Virgil, 
Horace,  Ovid,  Statius  and  all  other  famous  poet3;  and  that,  "taken  by  the 
sweetness  of  knowing  the  truth  of  the  things  concealed  in  Heaven,  and  find- 
ing no  other  pleasure  dearer  to  him  in  life,  he  left  all  worldly  care  and  de- 
voted himself  to  this  alone."  Dante  first  met  Beatrice  Portinari  at  her  father's 
house  on  May-day,  1274.  In  his  own  words,  "Already  nine  times  after  my 
birth  the  heaven  of  light  had  returned  as  it  were  to  the  same  point,  when  there 
appeared  to  my  eyes  the  glorious  lady  of  my  mind,  who  was  by  many  called 
Beatrice  who  knew  not  what  to  call  her."  He  saw  Beatrice  only  once  or 
twice,  but  bis  worship  was  stronger  for  the  remoteness  of  its  object. 

Aristophanes. — His  birth-year  is  uncertain.  He  is  known  to  have  been 
about  the  same  age  as  Eupolis,  and  is  said  to  have  been  "  almost  a  boy  "  when 
his  first  comedy  was  brought  out,  427  B.  C.  The  most  probable  conjecture 
places  his  birth  about  448  B.  C.  His  father  was  a  land-owner  in  iEgina. 
Aristophanes  was  an  Athenian  citizen  of  the  tribe  Pandionis.  His  three  sons 
were  all  comic  poets.  In  "  The  Birds,"  Peisthetserus,  an  enterprising  Athe- 
nian, and  his  friend,  Euelpid'es,  persuade  the  birds  to  build  a  city,  "Cloud- 
Cuckoo-borough,"  in  mid-air,  so  as  to  cut  off  the  gods  from  men.  The  plan 
succeeds  ;  the  gods  send  envoys  to  treat  with  the  birds  ;  Peisthetserus  marries 
Basilea,  daughter  of  Zeus.  Some  have  found  in  "The  Birds  "  a  complete 
historical  allegory  of  the  Sicilian  expedition  ;  others,  a  general  satire  on  the 
prevalence,  at  Athens,  of  head-strong  caprice  over  law  and  order ;  others, 
merely  an  aspiration  toward  a  new  and  purified  Athens  —  a  dream  to  which 
the  poet  had  turned  from  his  hope  of  a  revival  of  the  Athens  of  the  past. 

Arnold,  Edwin.— For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 

Byron,  George  G-ordon  Noel  (1788-1824).—"  The  portrait  of  the 
most  remarkable  figure  in  the  literature  of  this  century  is  still  too  often  made 
up  on  the  principle  of  putting  in  all  the  shadows  and  leaving  out  all  the  lights. " 
writes  the  commentator  in  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica."  Not  only  the  facts  of 
Byron's  own  life,  but  even  the  records  and  traditions  of  his  ancestry,  are  par- 
tially selected  in  this  way.  The  poet's  grandfather,  Admiral  Byron,  who  had 
as  little  rest  on  sea  as  the  poet  on  land,  had  the  virtues  without  the  vices  of 
the  race.  Farther  down  the  family  tree,  the  Byrons  are  found  distinguishing 
themselves  in  the  field.  Seven  brothers  fought  in  the  battle  of  Edgehill. 
None  of  the  family  would  seem  to  have  been  stirred  by  the  poetic  impulse  in 
the  brightest  period  of  English  song ;  but  under  Charles  II.  there  was  a  Lord 
Byron  who  patronized  literature,  and  wrote  verses.  The  poverty  into  which 
Byron  was  born,  and  from  which  his  accession  to  high  rank  did  not  free  him, 
had  much  to  do  in  determining  his  career.  That  he  would  have  written  verses 
in  whatever  circumstances  he  had  been  born,  we  may  safely  believe  ;  but  if 
he  had  been  born  in  affluence  we  may  be  certain  that,  with  his  impressionable 


204  WERNER'S  READINGS 

disposition,  be  would  never  have  been  the  poet  of  the  Revolution  —  the  most 
powerful  exponent  of  the  modern  spirit.  Sooner  or  later,  as  new  phases  of 
thought  and  sentiment  supervene  upon  the  old,  his  writings  must  pass  out  of 
the  catalogue  of  popular  literature,  but  his  personality  will  always  fascinate. 

Cervantes-Saavedra,  Miguel  de  (1547-1616).— "  Cervantes  and 
Shakespeare  died  in  the  same  year,  and,  according  to  the  records,  on  the 
same  day,  April  23.  By  the  reformed  calendar  of  Gregory  XIII.,  however, 
Cervantes  died  ten  days  before  Shakespeare.  It  has  been  suggested  that 
according  to  a  Spanish  custom,  Miguel  (Michael)  may  have  been  so  called 
because  born  on  St  Michael's  Day,  Sept.  29.  -The  first  translator  of  'Don 
Quixote '  into  English  was  Thomas  Shelton,  whose  translation  of  the  first  part 
appeared  in  1612,  three  years  before  Cervantes  had  produced  the  second. 
It  has  also  been  translated  into  Latin,  Italian,  German,  Dutch,  Danish,  Rus- 
sian, Polish,  and  Portuguese.  Cervantes,  in  this  book,  pleads,  with  the  good 
humor  of  Shakespeare,  through  wit  and  fancy  for  the  dominion  of  good  sense." 
— Henry  Morley,  LL.  D. 

Cliaucer,  Geoffrey  (1340-1400). — There  are  few  authors  whose  lives 
and  works  have  occasioned  more  zealous  search  by  antiquarians  than  has  the  life 
of  Chaucer.  It  is  to  Mr.  Furnivall  that  we  are  indebted  for  finally  settling 
the  parentage  of  Chaucer.  How  he  was  educated,  whether,  like  "Philo- 
genet,"  the  name  which  he  assumes  in  the  "  Court  of  Love,"  he  was  of  "  Cam- 
bridge clerk,"  and  how  he  was  introduced  to  the  notice  of  the  court,  is  left  to 
conjecture.  At  what  periods  of  life  Chaucer  wrote  we  have  no  means  of 
ascertaining.  There  are  no  manuscripts  of  any  of  his  works  that  can  be  re- 
ferred to  his  own  time  ;  the  earliest  of  them  in  existence  are  not  supposed  to 
have  been  written  till  several  years  after  his  death.  The  only  one  of  his 
works  of  which  the  date  is  fixed  is  the  "  Book  of  the  Duchess ;  "  if,  as  is  taken 
for  granted,  this  was  written  to  commemorate  the  death  of  the  wife  of  his 
patron,  John  of  Gaunt,  its  date  is  1369.  "  The  Canterbury  Tales  "  are  really, 
in  their  underlying  design,  an  exposition  of  chivalric  sentiment,  thrown  into 
conti-ast  by  its  opposite.  The  spirit  of  chivalry  is  the  vital  air  of  all  Chaucer's 
creations.  All  of  his  works  are  steeped  in  the  nectar  of  the  court ;  the  per- 
fume of  chivalrous  sentiment  breathes  from  them  all. 

Cowper,  William  (1731-1800).— This  best  of  English  letter-writers  and 
the  most  distinguished  poet  of  his  day,  was  born  November  26,  at  Great  Berk- 
hamstead,  Hertfordshire.  His  father,  who  held  the  living  of  the  parish,  was 
chaplain  to  George  II.  His  mother  died  in  1737,  leaving  two  sons.  "William, 
who  retained  the  most  affectionate  remembrance  of  his  mother,  embalmed  her 
memory  in  one  of  the  most  affecting  tributes  that  ever  came  from  the  heart  of 
a  son.  At  the  age  of  six  Cowper  was  placed  at  Dr.  Pitman's  school,  Bedford- 
shire. His  health  was  delicate,  and  he  was,  in  consequence,  exposed  to_  the 
laughter  and  ridicule  of  his  companions.  Of  a  highly  sensitive  organism, 
these  buffetings  were  keenly  felt.  Cowper  brought  nature  to  poetry,  and  his 
influence  has  been  extensive  and  lasting.  He  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  pro- 
totype of  Wordsworth.  Indeed,  many  passages  from  "  The  Excursion"  read 
like  extracts  from  "  The  Task."  It  is  curious  to  observe  in  Cowper's  yerse 
that  subjectivity  which  is  supposed  to  be  characteristic  of  more  repent  times. 
His  ailings,  his  walks,  his  musings,  his  tamed  hares,  his  friends,  his  indigna- 
tion at  slavery,  his  peculiar  views  of  religion,  are  the  things  he  delights  to 
portray.     "  The  Task  "  is  a  poem  entirely  about  himself.    While  engaged  in 


AND  RECITATIONS.  205 

translating-  Homer,  the  sad  melancholia  of  which  he  was  a  victim,  returned, 
but  was  happily  driven  away  by  society  and  constant  literary  occupation. 
And  no  sooner  was  "  Homer  "  given  to  the  world  than  we  find  him  engaged  on 
an  edition  of  Milton.  The  deepest  dejection,  alternating  with  fits  of  spiritual 
despair,  hung  over  him  to  the  end.     He  died  peacefully,  April  25. 

Dryden,  John  (1631-1700).— Born  August  9,  at  Aldwinkle,  Northamp- 
tonshire, of  Cumberland  stock.  His  family  had  acquired  estates  and  a  baron- 
etcy, and  intermarried  with  landed  families  in  that  county.  His  great- 
grandfather is  said  to  have  known  Erasmus,  and  to  have  been  so  proud  of  the 
great,  scholar's  friendship  that  he  named  his  eldest  son  Erasmus.  This  name 
was  borne  by  the  poet's  father.  The  leanings  and  connections  of  the  family 
were  Puritan  raid  anti-monarchical.  Sir  Erasmus  Dryden  went  to  prison 
rather  than  pay  loan  money  to  Charles  I. ;  the  poet's  uncle  and  his  father 
served  on  government  commissions  during  the  Commonwealth.  Dryden's 
education  was  such  as  became  a  scion  of  such  a  family  of  squires  and  rectors. 
Dryden  was  not  content  with  writing  tragedies  in  rhymed  verse.  Taking  it 
up  with  enthusiasm  as  the  only  thing  which  the  Elizabethan  dramatists  had 
left  for  their  successors  to  excel  in,  he  propounded  the  propriety  of  rhyme  in 
serious  plays  as  a  thesis  for  discussion,  and  made  it  a  prominent  question.  A 
volume  of  miscellany,  published  in  1685,  contained  translations  from  Virgil, 
Horace,  Lucretius  and  Theocritus ;  one  issued  in  1693,  translations  from 
Homer  and  Ovid.  Toward  the  close  of  his  career,  the  poet  lent  his  gift  to 
politics,  and  his  fame  profited  by  the  connection. 

Eliot,  George.— For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 

Fletcher,  Giles  (1584-1623).— The  principal  work  by  whieh  he  is  known 
is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  religious  poems  in  the  language.  Its  full  title 
is  "Christ's  Victory  and  Triumph,  in  Heaven,  in  Earth,  Over  and  After 
Death."  It  is  in  four  cantos,  divided  according  to  the  suggestion  of  the  title. 
The  metre  is  an  eight-line  stanza,  adapted  from  the  Spenserian  by  the  omis- 
sion of  the  seventh  line.  Giles,  like  his  brother  Phineas,  was  a  disciple  of 
Spenser,  whom  he  followed  with  more  brilliancy  and  vigor  than  any  poet  of 
his  time.  In  his  best  passages  he  attains  to  a  rare  sublimity  and  a  rich, 
voluptuous  music,  which  charmed  Milton.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  live  in  an 
age  that  considered  the  poems  of  Marini  and  Gongora  insuperable,  and  he 
strove  too_  often  to  outdo  these,  his  patterns,  in  grotesque  conceit.  But  when 
he  is  carried  away  by  his  theme,  and  forgets  to  be  ingenious,  he  attains  an 
extraordinary  solemnity  and  harmony  of  style.  His  description  of  the  "  Lady 
of  Vain  Delight,"  in  the  second  canto  of  his  religious  poem,  has  been  greatly 
admired.  Milton  did  not  hesitate  to  borrow  considerably  from  "Christ's 
Victory  and  Triumph,"  in  his  "  Paradise  Regained/ 

Fontaine,  Jean  de  la  (1621-1695).— One  of  the  most  popular  and  origi- 
nal of  French  poets,  born  at  Chateau  Thierry,  in  Champagne,  probably  on 
July  8,  and  died  in  Paris,  April  13.  His  father  was  "  maitre  des  eaux  etforets  " 
—  a  kind  of  deputy-ranger  —  of  the  Duchy  of  Chateau  Thierry.  On  both  sides 
his  family  was  of  the  highest  provincial  middle  class,  but  not  noble ;  his  father 
was  also  fairly  wealthy.  Jean,  who  was  the  eldest  child,  was  educated  at  the 
grammar  school  of  his  native  town  ;  and  at  the  end  of  his  school  days  he  had 
an  idea  of  taking  orders.  He  entered  the  Oratory  in  May,  1641,  and  the  sem- 
inary of  St.  Magloire  in  October  of  the  same  year ;  but  a  short  vacation  proved 


206  WERNERS  READINGS 

to  him  that  he  had  mistaken  his  vocation.  The  literary  works  of  La  Fontaine 
fall  no  less  naturally  than  traditionally  into  three  divisions  :  the  Fables,  the 
Contes,  and  the  Miscellaneous  works.  Of  these,  the  first  may  be  said  to  be 
known  universally  ;  the  second  to  be  known  to  all  lovers  of  French  literature ; 
the  third  to  be,  with  a  few  exceptions,  practically  forgotten.  His  "  Fables  " 
constitute  his  fame  as  a  writer. 

Goetlie,  Johann  Wolfgang  von.— For  sketch  see  No.  8  of  this 
aeries. 

Hoiner  (850  B.  C). — Some  commentators  have  concluded  from  the  contro- 
versies concerning  the  period  of  Homer's  life  that  the  dates  fall  between  the 
10th  and  11th  centuries  B.  C.  Herodotus  maintains  that  Hesiod  and  Homer 
lived  not  more  than  400  years  before  his  own  time,  consequently,  not  much  be- 
fore 850  B.  C.  The  extant  lives  of  Homer  are  eight  in  number.  The  longest  is 
written  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  and  bears  the  name  of  Herodotus.  These  biogra- 
phies contain  a  strange  medley,  ranging  from  the  simplest  outgrowth  of  popu- 
lar fancy  to  the  frigid  inventions  of  the  age.  Thus  the  story  that  Homer  was 
the  son  of  the  Meles  (the  river  on  which  Smyrna  is  situated)  and  the  nymph 
Critheis  is  evidently  a  local  legend.  Another  story  describes  the  manner  of 
his  death  in  the  island  of  Ios.  Seeing  some  young  fishermen  on  the  beach 
with  their  nets,  he  asked  them :  "  Fisherman  sprung  of  Arcadia,  have  we 
aught  1 "  To  which  they  answered  in  a  riddle :  "  "What  we  caught  we  left  be- 
hind ;  what  we  caught  not  we  bear  with  us."  Homer  could  not  explain  this, 
and  then  he  remembered  an  oracle  which  had  told  him  to  beware  of  the  young 
men's  riddle.  The  chief  value  of  the  Herodotean  life  lies  in  the  curious  short 
poems  which  they  have  preserved.  The  subject  of  the  "  Iliad,"  as  the  first 
line  proclaims,  is  the  anger  of  Achilles.  In  the  "  Odyssey,"  as  in  the  "  Iliad," 
the  events  related  fall  within  a  short  space  of  time.  When  we  realize  that 
each  of  the  great  Homeric  poems  is  either  wholly  or  mainly  the  work  of  a 
single  poet,  the  question  still  remains  :  Are  they  the  work  of  the  same  poetl 
The  cardinal  qualities  of  Homer's  style  have  been  pointed  out  by  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold  :  "  He  is  eminently  rapid ;  he  is  eminently  plain  and  direct,  both  in 
the  evolution  of  his  thought  and  in  the  expression  of  it,  that  is,  both  in  his  syn- 
tax and  in  his  words  ;  he  is  eminently  plain  in  the  substance  of  his  thought, 
that  is,  in  his  matter  and  ideas  ;  and.  finally,  he  is  eminently  noble." 

Hugo,  Victor. — For  sketch  see  No.  9  of  this  series. 

Keats,  John  (1795-1821).— Born  Oct.  29,  he  published  his  first  volume  of 
verse  in  1817,  his  second  in  the  following  year,  his  third  in  1820,  and  died  of 
consumption  in  Rome,  Feb.  23.  He  did  not,  in  his  earliest  attempts,  show 
signs  of  greatness ;  but  the  rapid  ripening  of  his  genius  gave  unmistakable 
evidence  of  his  genius  as  a  tragic  or,  at  least,  as  a  romantic  dramatist. 
"Lamia,"  as  a  narrative  poem,  is  characterized  by  force  and  clearness  of  ex- 
pression. "  Endymion,"  dealing  with  the  most  extravagant  sentimentality,  is 
yet  possessed  of  delicacy,  and  shows  the  touch  of  an  artist  in  picturesque  finish 
and  grouping.  The  dramatic  fragment  of  "  King  Stephen  "  displays  far  more 
power  and  gives  greater  promise  of  success  than  does  that  of  Shelley's 
"Charles  I."  No  little  injustice  has  been  done  to  Keats  by  those  who  dwell 
only  on  the  more  salient  and  distinctive  notes  of  a  genius  which,  in  fact,  was 
very  much  more  various  and  tentative,  less  limited  and  peculiar,  than  would 
be  inferred  from  his  especially  characteristic  work.     Highest  in  this  classifica- 


AND  RECITATIONS.  207 

tion  we  must  rate  his  unequalled  odes.  Of  these,  the  two  nearest  perfection 
are  that  to  "Autumn  "  and  that  on  a  "Grecian  Urn  ;"  the  most  radiant,  fer- 
vent, and  musical  is  that  to  a  "Nightingale."  Keats,  on  high  and  recent 
authority,  has  been  promoted  to  a  place  beside  Shakespeare  ;  and  it  was  re- 
marked by  an  earlier  critic  that  as  a  painter  of  flowers  his  touch  had  almost 
a  Shakespearian  felicity. 

Liytton,  Edward  George  Earle  Bulwer.— For  sketch  see  No.  9  of 
this  series. 

Marlowe,  Christopher  (1565-1593).— Born  at  Canterbury,  England, 
Feb.  2t5,  and  educated  at  King's  School  and  Bennet  College,  Cambridge,  where 
he  received  "the  degree  of  M.  A.  In  1587  his  tragedy  "  Tamburlaine  "  ap- 
peared, followed  in  rapid  succession  by  "Dr.  Faustus,"  "Rich  Jew  of  Malta," 
"  Edward  II."  On  this  last  play  Shakespeare  is  thought  to  have  modeled  his 
,f  Richard  II.,"  though  Marlowe's _play  is  conceded  by  critics  to  be  superior  to 
its  copy.  His  talent  lay  in  depicting  strong  passion,  though  his  "  Passionate 
Shepherd  "  ie  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  pastoral  poems.  His  life  was  wild 
and  dissipated,  and  his  untimely  death  was  the  result  of  a  quarrel,  in  which 
he  was  stabbed  through  the  eye  to  the  brain,  June  16.  His  command  of  lan- 
guage and  knowledge  of  stage-effects  would  have  made  him  a  formidable  rival 
to  Shakespeare,  had  not  death  interfered. 

Milton,  John.— For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 

Moliere  (1622-1673).— Jean  Baptiste  Poquelin  who,  for  some  undiscovered 
reason,  chose  to  assume  the  nom  de  plume  of  Moliere,  was  born  in  Paris  about 
Jan.  15.  His  father  was  an  upholsterer  who,  in  1631,  succeeded  his  uncle  as 
valet  tapissier  de  chambre  du  roi.  Moliere  was  a  great  writer  and  a  good  man, 
although  much  maligned.  His  philosophic  studies  left  a  deep  mark  on  him. 
His  college  education  over,  he  studied  law  and  was  called  to  the  bar.  In 
1643  he,  with  others,  hired  a  tennis-court,  and  fitted  it  up  as  a  stage  for  dra- 
matic performances.  The  company  called  themselves  L'lllustre  Theatre, 
illustre  being  then  almost  a  slang  word.  The  company  acted  with  little  suc- 
cess. Moliere  was  arrested  by  the  tradesman  who  supplied  candles,  and 
the  company  had  to  borrow  money  to  release  their  leader  from  the  Grand 
ChAtelet.  His  first  appearance  before  the  King  was  almost  a  failure. 
"  Nicomede,"  by  the  elder  Corneille,  was  the  piece.  When  the  play  was 
over,  the  unfortunate  actor  came  forward  and  asked  permission  to  act  "  one 
of  the  little*  pieces  with  which  he  had  been  used  to  regale  the  provinces." 
"  Doctor  Amoureux  "  was  then  performed,  and  "  diverted  as  much  as  it  sur- 
prised the  audience."  The  King  commanded  the  troupe  to  establish  itself  in 
Pans.  This  was  the  opening  of  his  career  as  a  successful  actor  and  play- 
wright. In  1673  "  Malade  Imaginaire  "  was  acted  for  the  first  time  ;  and  the 
same  day,  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  after  the  comedy,  Moliere  died.  He 
had  played  the  part  of  Malade  while  suffering  from  cold  and  inflammation, 
causing  a  violent  coughing  fit,  during  which  he  burst  a  blood-vessel.  He  is 
buried  at  St.  Joseph's,  parish  of  St.  Eustache,  with  a  gravestone  raised  a  foot 
above  the  ground. 

Moore,  Thomas.— For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 

Pope,  Alexander  (1688-1744).— The  most  famous  poet  of  his  century. 
All  are  agreed  that  he  was  not  a  poet  of  the  first  rank.    Pope  was  peculiarly 


208  WERNER'S  READINGS 

fitted  by  nature  to  take  the  impress  of  his  surroundings ;  plastic,  sensitive, 
eagerly  covetous  of  approbation,  affection  and  admiration  were  as  necessary 
to  his  life  as  the  air  he  breathed.  "  Pope  was,"  says  Jonson,  "  of  a  constitu- 
tion tender  and  delicate,  but  is  said  not  to  have  shown  remarkable  gentleness 
and  sweetness  of  disposition.  The  weakness  of  his  body  continued  through 
his  life  ;  but  the  mildness  of  his  mind  ended  with  his  childhood."  His  first 
publication,  1709,  was  his  "  Pastorals."  There  was  a  passing  fashion  for  them 
at  the  time,  and  Pope  may  have  had  the  impression  that  they  offered  a  suc- 
cessful field  for  poetic  ambition,  not  knowing,  or  forgetting,  what  had  been 
done  by  Giles  Fletcher  and  Milton.  His  next  publication  was  the  "  Essay  on 
Criticism."  "In  every  work  regard  the  writer's  end,"  is  one  of  its  sensible 
precepts,  and  one  that  is  often  neglected  by  critics  of  the  essay,  who  comment 
upon  it  as  if  its  end  had  been  to  produce  a  treatise  on  first  principles.  His 
aim  was  simply  to  give  as  perfect  and  novel  expression  as  he  could  to  floating 
opinions  about  poets'  aims  and  methods,  and  critics'  duties.  "  The  Rape  of 
the  Lock  "  appeared  in  1712,  and  was  his  first  poem  inspired  by  real  life,  and 
not  by  books.  His  translation  of  Homer  established  his  reputation  with  his 
contemporaries.  "  The  Essay  on  Man  "  may  be  said  to  contain  the  essence  of 
the  thought  of  men  of  the  world  in  his  generation  on  its  subject ;  such  was 
the  poet's  skill  and  judgment  in  collecting  the  substance  of  floating  opinion, 
that  it  was  said  to  be  "  pieces  on  human  life  and  manners."  He  died  May  30, 
and  was  buried  in  the  church  at  Twickenham.  His  ruling  passion  was  what 
a  poet  of  his  time  described  as  the  universal  passion  —  love  of  fame. 

Schiller,  Joliann   Christoph    Friedrich  von.— For  sketch  see 

No.  7  of  this  series. 

Scott,  Walter. — For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 
Shakespeare,  William.— For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 

Southey,  Robert  (1774-1843).— Born   at  Bristol,  Aug.  12.     His  father 

was  an  unsuccessful  draper.  To  his  mother  Southey  owed  his  buoyant  spirits, 
his  practical  sense,  and  his  earliest  friends.  His  mother's  half-sister  took  him 
when  he  was  three,  and  under  her  care  he  saw  and  heard  a  great  deal  of 
theatres  and  acting.  In  1788  he  went  to  Westminster  to  school,  but  did  not 
acquit  himself  creditably,  as  was  also  the  case  in  several  private  schools  he 
attended.  At  Oxford  he  led  his  own  life,  lived  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  got 
little  or  nothing  from  the  university.  In  1794  Coleridge  formulated  plans  for 
an  ideal  colony  in  the  wilds.  The  new  society,  whose  members  were  to  have 
all  things  in  common,  was  to  be  called  "  The  Pantisocracy."  Their  life  was  to 
combine  manual  labor  and  domestic  bliss ;  but  the  scheme  was  abandoned. 
Southey  was  not,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  a  poet,  although  in  1813  he 
was  made  poet-laureate.  But  if  we  turn  from  his  verse  to  his  prose,  we  are  in 
a  different  world.  There  he  is  master  of  his  art,  working  with  grace  and  skill. 
"  Southey's  prose  is  perfect,"  said  Byron  ;  and  if  we  do  not  stretch  the  "  per- 
fect," or  take  it  to  mean  the  supreme  perfection  of  the  greatest  masters  of 
style,  Byron  is  right.  He  died  March  21,  and  is  buried  in  Crosthwaite  church- 
yard. 

Spenser,  Edmund  (1552-1599). — Elizabethan  poet,  born  in  London. 
He  showed  his  poetic  faculty  at  an  early  age.  Little  is  known  of  his  Cam- 
bridge career,  except  that  he  was  a  sizar  of  Pembroke  Hall,  took  his  bache- 


AND  RECITATIONS.  209 

lor's  degree  in  1572,  his  master's  in  1576,  and  left  Cambridge  without  having 
obtained  a  fellowship.  In  1579  he  issued  his  first  volume  of  poetry,  the  "Shep- 
herd's Calendar."  Amidst  the  distractions  of  public  life  in  Ireland  (having 
been  appointed  secretary  to  the  lord-deputy  of  Ireland),  Spenser  proceeded 
steadily  with  the  "Faery  Queen,"  translating  his  varied  experiences  of  men 
and  affairs  into  the  picturesque  forms  of  his  allegory,  and  expressing  through 
them  his  conception  of  the  immaculate  principles  that  ought  to  regulate  human 
conduct.  From  the  first  the  literary  world  has  been  unanimous  in  its  opinion 
of  the  "  Faery  Queen,"  except  on  minor  points.  The  secret  of  Spenser's  en- 
during popularity  lies  especially  in  the  fact  that  he  excels  in  the  instinct  for 
verbal  music.  Shakespeare  felt  and  expressed  this  when  he  drew  the  parallel 
between  "  music  and  sweet  poetry." 

Swift,  Jonathan  (1667-1745).— Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  the  greatest  satirist 
of  his  own  or  perhaps  of  any  age,  born  in  Dublin,  Nov.  30.  His  family  was 
of  Yorkshire  origin.  In  1682  Swift  matriculated  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
where  he  failed  to  distinguish  himself.  Before  the  publication  of  the  "Tale 
of  a  Tub,"  he  had  taken  a  step  destined  to  exercise  an  important  influence  on 
his  life,  by  inviting  two  ladies  to  Laracor,  one  of  the  vicarages  presented  by 
his  patron,  Lord  Berkeley.  Esther  Johnson,  whom  he  has  immortalized  as 
"Stella" — a  translation  of  Esther  —  came  over  with  her  chaperon  —  Mrs. 
Dingley,  and  was  permanently  domiciled  in  his  neighborhood.  The  melan- 
choly romance  of  Swift's  attachment  is  one  of  the  most  tender  and  pathetic  epi- 
sodes to  be  found.  The  leading  note  of  his  character  was  strength  without 
elevation.  His  master-passion  was  imperious  pride.  Judged  by  some  pas- 
sages of  his  life,  he  would  appear  a  heartless  egotist ;  yet  he  was  capable  of 
the  sincerest  friendship,  and  could  never  dispense  with  sympathy.  An  object 
of  pity  as  well  as  of  awe,  he  is  one  of  the  most  tragic  figures  in  literature. 
"To  think  of  him,"  says  Thackeray,  "  is  like  thinking  of  the  ruin  of  a  great 
empire."  Nothing  truer  could  be  said  of  one  who  combined  with  genius  the 
power  to  discuss  with  profound  acumen  all  political  topics,  to  satirize  the 
deepest  problems  of  society,  and  whose  -winning  fancifulness  in  "  Gulliver's 
Travels  "  has  won  the  child-heart  of  the  world.  As  a  humorist  his  pen  was 
facile,  yet  never  failed  to  point  the  sermon  he  designed  to  preach  even  though 
clothed  in  the  garb  of  the  grotesque. 

Tasso,  Torquato  (1544-1595).— Born  at  Sorrento,  the  son  of  a  noble- 
man, he  ranks,  with  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Ariosto,  among  the  first  four  poets 
of  Italy.  His  father  had  for  many  years  been  secretary  to  the  Prince  of  Sa- 
lerno, and  his  mother  was  closely  connected  with  the  most  illustrious  Neapoli- 
tan families.  "The  Aminta  "  and  "Gerusalemme  Liberata"  were  completed 
in  1573  and  1574.  "  The  Aminta  "  is  a  pastoral  drama  of  very  simple  plot, 
but  of  exquisite  lyrical  charm.  "  Gerusalemme  Liberata  "  occupies  a  larger 
space  in  the  history  of  European  literature.  Yet  the  commanding  qualities 
of  this  epic  poem,  those  that  reveal  Tasso's  individuality,  and  make  the  work 
pass  into  the  rank  of  classics,  beloved  by  the  people  no  less  than  by  persons 
of  culture,  are  akin  to  the  lyrical  graces  of  "  Aminta."  With  it  his  best  work 
was  accomplished. 

Tennyson,  Alfred.— For  sketch  see  No.  1  of  this  series. 

Tolstoi,  Lyof  Nicholaevitch  (1828 ).— Novelist,  born  Aug.  28,  at 

Clear  Streak,  in  the  government  of  Toula.    His  mother,  Princess  Marie  Volkou- 


210  WERNER'S  READINGS. 

sky,  whose  portrait  the  novelist  has  sketched  in  the  person  of  the  Princess  Marie, 
died  when  he  was  two  years  old,  and  soon  after  her  death  the  family  removed 
to  Moscow.  They  had  not  been  long-  there  when  the  father,  whose  character 
and  habits  are  partially  depicted  in  Nicholas  Rostoff,  suddenly  died,  and  the 
future  novelist,  with  his  sister  and  younger  brother,  returned  to  Clear  Streak. 
For  the  first  time  he  was  brought  into  close  connection  with  the  peasants  on 
the  family  estate,  and  derived  those  impressions  of  Russian  country  life,  of 
which,  later,  he  was  to  become  the  greatest  interpreter.  He  was  only  16 
when  he  matriculated  at  the  University  of  Kazan,  remaining  three  years, 
when  he  went  back  to  his  favorite  country  home.  In  1851  he  entered  the 
military  service  as  a  junker,  and  joined  the  brigade  into  which  he  was  drafted 
at  Staroe-Lidovskoe  on  the  banks  of  the  Terek.  He  took  an  active  part  in 
t tie  campaign  against  Turkey  and  the  allied  forces,  and  was  present  at  the 
storming  of  Sebastopol.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  Count  Tolstoi  retired 
from  military  service,  and  spent  a  few  months  at  St.  Petersburg,  where  he 
was  brought  into  close  relationship  with  literary  men.  Not  without  reason 
has  the  Caucasus  been  termed  the  cradle  of  the  Russian  Muse.  Nor  can  it  be 
doubted  that  the  picturesque  wildness  and  the  legends  of  savage  heroism 
produced  a  strong  impression  on  young  Tolstoi.  Among  his  general  works, 
"My  Religion"  has  caused  most  controversy.  "With  "  Anna  Karenina "  his 
career  as  a  novelist  terminated.  The  composition  of  his  great  novel  "  War 
and  Peace"  was  not  allowed  to  interrupt  his  labors  in  promoting  the  educa- 
tion of  the  people,  and  several  works,  including  a  "  Reading  Book,"  were 
from  time  to  time  published,  with  the  aim  of  providing  village  and  country 
schools  with  suitable  manuals.  He  is  still  living,  and  his  influence  is  nobly 
exercised  in  moulding  and  directing  the  minds  of  the  rising  generation  in 
Russia,  in  defence  of  the  pure,  the  true,  and  the  just;  an  influence  that  has 
borne  good  fruit,  and  from  which  may  be  expected  still  greater  results. 

Virgil  (70—20  B.  C.).— Publius  Virgilius  Maro,  known  as  Virgil,  born  Oct. 
19,  is  the  only  complete  representative  of  the  deepest  sentiment  and  highest 
mood  of  the  Roman  poets  and  of  his  time.  In  his  pastoral  and  didactic  poems 
he  gives  voice  to  the  whole  charm  of  Italy;  in  the  "J3Eneid"to  the  whole  glory 
of  Rome.  His  fame  rests  on  the  three  works  of  his  early  and  mature  man- 
hood. _  Thepastoal  poems  or  "Eclogues,"  the  "Georgics,"and  the  "iEneid," 
all  written  in  that  hexameter  verse  which  he  received  from  his  immediate 
predecessors.  He  produced  in  the  "Georgics  "  a  new  type  of  didactic,  as  in 
the  "^neid  "  he  produced  a  new  type  of  epic  poetry.  Of  the  latter,  the  dom- 
inant idea  is  that  of  universal  empire.  Even  those  who  have  been  insensible 
to  the  representative  and  the  human  interest  of  ",3Eneid  "  have  recognized  the 
artistic  excellence  of  the  poem.  Virgil  wishes  to  hold  up  in  ^neas,  an  ideal 
of  pious  obedience,  steadfast  endurance,  persistent  purpose  —  a  religious  ideal 
belonging  to  an  era  of  moral  enlightenment.  Among  the  personages  of  the 
"^Eneid  "  the  only  one  that  entitles  Virgil  to  rank  among  great  creators  is 
Dido,  an  ideal  of  a  true  queen  and  a  true  woman.     He  died  Sept.  21. 


WERNER'S 

Readings  and  Recitations, 

ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  CONTENTS. 


No.  1.— ENGLISH  CLASSICS.     COMPILED  BY  SARA  SIGOURNEY  RICE. 


Adolphus,  Duke  of  Guelders.  Owen  Mere- 
dith. 

Adventure,  An.    Amelia  B.  Edwards. 

Amy  Robsart  and  Lord  Leicester  at  Kenil- 
worth,  Interview  Between.    Scott. 

Armada,  The.    Macaulay. 

Aylmer's  Field.    Alfred  Tennyson. 

Beggar's  Daughter  of  Bednall  Green,  The. 
Percy  Reliques. 

Building  of  the  House,  The.    Chas.  Mackay. 

Charlotte  Corday.    Thomas  Carlyle. 

Church  of  Brou,  The.     Matthew  Arnold. 

Constance  de  Beverly.     Walter  Scott. 

Count  Albert  and  Fair  Rosalie.    Scott. 

Death  of  Rowland,  The.    Robert  Buchanan. 

Death  of  Mary  Stuart,  The.  James  Anthony 
Froude. 

Donald  and  the  Stag.    Robert  Browning. 

Duchess  May.    Elizabeth  B.  Browning. 

Echo  and  the  Ferry.    Jean  Ingelow. 

Elaine.    Alfred  Tennyson. 

Enid.    Alfred  Tennyson. 

Flood  on  the  Floss,  The.    George  Eliot. 

Golden  City,  The.     Frederick  Tennyson, 

Golden  Supper,  The.    Alfred  Tennyson. 

Guinevere.    Alfred  Tennyson. 

Heart  of  Bruce,  The.    William  E.  Aytoun. 

Hugh  Sutherland's  Pansies.    R.  Buchanan. 

Ivan  Ivanovitch.    Robert  Browning. 

King  and  the  Nightingales,  The,  Charles 
Mackay. 

King  John  and  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury. 

King  Sheddad's  Paradise.    Edwin  Arnold. 

Lady  in  Comus,  The.    John  Milton. 

Legend  of  St.  Christopher,  The.  Mary 
Fletcher. 


Little  Blue  Ribbons. 

Little  Grand  Lama,  The.    Thomas  Moor»- 

Lurline  ;  or,  The  Knight's  Visit  to  the  Md*<* 

maids.    Richard  H.  Barham. 
Marie  Antoinette.    Thomas  Carlyle.       ( 
Maypole,  The.  s 

Miss     Pinkerton's    Academy    for    YouBft 

Ladies.    W.  M.  Thackeray. 
Mohammed.    Owen  Meredith. 
Mrs.  Leo  Hunter.    Charles  Dickens. 
Old  Sedan  Chair,  The.    Austin  Dobson. 
Old  Slave's  Lament,  The. 
Origin  of  Roast  Pig,  The.    Charles  Lamb. 
Owd  Roa.    Alfred  Tennyson. 
Parrot  and  the  Cuckoo,  The. 
Peacock  on  the  Wall,  The. 
Pedler   and    his   Trumpet,   The.    Thomas 

Hood. 
Pheidippides.    Robert  Browning. 
Plain  Direction,  A. 
Revels    of    the  Caesars,   The.    Amelia  8. 

Edwards. 
Saint  Elizabeth.    Charles  Kingsley. 
Shakespeare's  Dream.    Arranged  by  Sara  S. 

Rice. 
Snow  Storm.  The.    R.  D.  Blackmore. 
Streets  of  London,  The.    Owen  Meredith. 
Sultan  and  the  Potter,  The.    Edwin  Arnold. 
Swanage  Bay,  In.    Dinah  Mulock  Craik. 
Turtles,  The.    Thomas  Hood. 
Veronica.    Dinah  Mulock  Craik. 
Vision    of    Poets,    A.     Elizabeth    Barrett 

Browning. 
Vivien.    Alfred  Tennyson. 
White  Ship,  The.    Dante  G.  Rosetti. 
Witches'  Frolic,  The.    Richard  H.  Barham. ' 


No.  2.— COMPILED  BY  ELSIE  M.  WILBOR. 


Agatha.    Will  Hubbard  Keraan. 
A  La  Mode.    Clara  Marcelle  Greene. 
Amateur  Photography.    Nathan  H.  Dole. 
Arizona  Jim.    Charles  F.  Lummis. 
Army  Overcoat,  The.    Mrs.  G.  Archibald. 
Aunt  Peggy  and  High  Art.  Mary  K.  Dallas. 
Elf-Child    and    the    Minister,    The.      N. 

Hawthorne. 
Ballad  of  Splendid  Silence,  The.    E.  Nesbit. 
Ballad  of  the  Were-"Wolf,  A.    Graham  R. 

Tomson. 


Before  the  Gate,    William  Dean  Howell3,  1 

Before  the  Mirror. 

Mad  Marie. 

El  Caniilo.    Minna  Irving. 

Dot's  Version  of  the  Text.     A.  M.  Kellogg. 

Boy's  Mercy,  A.    Bessie  G.  Hart. 

Canary  at  the  Farm,  A.    James  W.  Riley. 

Within  the  Gates.    Clay  Clement. 

Christmas  Camp   on  the   San    Gabr'el,  A 

Amelia  E.  Barr. 
Christmas  Treasures.    Eugene  Field. 


Any  number,  35  cts.  in  paper ;  60  cts.  in  cloth.    Edgar  S.  Werner,  Publisher, 

New  Yorlt 


List  of  Contents  of  Werner's  Headings  and  Recitations* 


Ctombine,  A. 

Concerning  Kisses. 

Mazurka  of  Chopin's,  A.  C.  F.  Richardson. 

Cow,  The. 

Dash  for  the  Colors,  The.    F.  G.  "Webb. 

Death  of  Montezuma,  The.  Gen.  L.  Wallace. 
Arr.  by  Laura  Taylor. 

Demetrius.    Constance  F.  Le  RoyRuncie. 

Demon  of  the  Mirror,  The.    Bayard  Taylor. 

Dreams  for  Sale.    S.  Walter  Norris. 

El  Canalo.     Bayard  Taylor. 

Empty  Pocket,  The.    Charles  F.  Lummis. 

Evangelical  Osculation. 

False,  Fickle  Man. 

Farewell,  A.    Charles  Kingsley. 

Fight  of  Paso  del  Mar,  The.    Bayard  Taylor. 

Francesca  da  Rimini.  G.  H.  Boker.  Arr.  by 
Elsie  M.  Wilbor.  Recitation  Lesson- 
Helps  by  F.  Townsend  Southwick. 

French  with  a  Master.    Theodore  Tilton. 

Going  Away.    Thomas  Frost. 

Going  Home  in  the  Morning.    W.  Douglas. 

Heart's-Ease. 

He  Kissed  Me. 

Her  First  Shot. 

Her  Laugh  in  Four  Fits. 

Her  Lover.    Mrs.  S.  C.  Hazlett. 

Hour  of  Trial.  An. 

In  Bay  Chaleur.    Hezekiah  Butterworth. 

Inconsolable  Husband,  The. 

Indignant  Polly  Wog.    Margaret  Eytinge. 

In  the  Hospital  Ward. 

Ipsissimus.    Eugene  Lee  Hamilton. 

It's  Hard  to  be  Good. 

Jail-Bird1,   Story,  A. 

Jennie.    Fred  Emerson  Brooks. 

Joaquin  Miller's  Bear  Story.    J.  Miller. 

Kitty  Clover.    Carrie  W.  Thompson. 

Known  Unto  God.    C.  F.  Le  Roy  Runcie. 

Lady  of  Gedo,  The.    Trans,  by  M.  J.  Safford. 

Lassie's  Decision,  The.    H.  D.  McAthol. 

Last  of  the  Light  Brigade,  The.    R.  Kipling. 

Last  String,  The.    Gustav  Hartwig. 

Solomon  and  the  Sparrow.  C.  Joachimsen. 

Losers  of  Money. 

Lost.    James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


Mad  Actor,  The.    Frederick  G.  Webb. 

Man  in  the  Fustian  Jacket,  The.  George 
Moggridge. 

Mary's  Singing  Lesson. 

Miggles.    Bret  Harte.   Arr.  by  E.  M.  Wilbor.. 

Mother's  Lullaby.    Mamie  T.  Short. 

My  Editing.    Mark  Twain. 

My  Fiddle.    James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

Nothing  and  Something.  D.  S.  T.  Butter-, 
baugh. 

Old-Fashioned  Roses.    James  W.  Riley. 

Old  School  Clock,  The.  John  Boyle  O'Reilly.. 

Oversight  of  Make-up,  An. 

Playing  for  Keeps.    Nettie  H.  Pelham. 

Plumber's  Revenge. 

Poor  Jack.    Samuel  K.  Cowen. 

Reciprocity. 

Road  to  Heaven,  The.    George  R.  Sims. 

Saint  Cecilia.    Lewis  Morris. 

Scarecrow,  The.    Wallace  E.  Mather. 

Seaside  Incident,  A.    Marc  Cook 

Skylark,  The.    Miller  Hageman. 

So  I  got  to  Thinkin'  of  Her.    J.  W.  Riley. 

Soldier  and  the  Pard.  The.  Bayard  Taylor.i 
Arr.  by  Elsie  M.  Wilbor. 

Sorrow.    C.  Wilster.     Trans,  by  John  Volk. 

Tale  of  the  Crimean  War.    F.  G.  Webb. 

Taming  an  Alligator. 

Tell  Her  So. 

Tomb  of  Charlemagne,  The.   Bayard  Taylor. 

Too-Too  Serenade,  A. 

Uncle  Dick's  Version. 

Waitin'  f  er  the  Cat  to  Die.    J.  W.  Riley. 

What  Old  Mrs.  Ember  Said. 

What  Should  a  Young  Maid  do  ?  B.  W.  King. 

When  I  am  Married. 

Whisperin'  Bill.    Irving  Bacheller. 

Why  don't  you  Tell  me  Yes  f  Mrs.  George 
Archibald. 

Widow  Brown's  Christmas.  J.  T.  Trow- 
bridge. 

Wild  Oats.    Charles  Kingsley. 

Woman's  Way. 

Wooden  Leg,  The.    Max  Adler. 

Yankee  and  the  Butter,  The. 

Young  Donald.    George  Roy. 


No.  3.— ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  SKETCHES.    By  George  Kyle  and  Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 


Alphabetical  Sermon.    George  Kyle. 
Anatomical  Tragedian,  The.    George  Kyle. 
At  the  Altar.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
At  the  Rug  Auction. 

Aunt  Betsy  on  Marriage.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Aunty  Doleful's  Visit.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Aurelia's  Valentine.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Bessie's  Dilemma.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Billy's  Pets.     George  Kyle. 
Broken  Dreams.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Burglar's  Grievances,  The.    George  Kyle. 
Catching  the  Cat.    Margaret  Vandegrif t. 
Caught.     K.  E.  Barry. 
Classical  Music.    George  Kyle. 
Cleopatra's  Protest.    Edward  L.  Keyes. 
Corianna's  Wedding.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Dawn  on  the  Irish  Coast.    John  Locke. 
Delancey    Stuyvesant   and   the  Horse-Car. 

George  Kyle. 
Dentist  and  Patient.    George  Kyle. 


Different  Ways  of  Saying  Yes. 
Difficult  Love-Making.    Will  Carleton. 
Dream,  A.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Dunderburg  Jenkins's  "  Forty-Graff  "Album. 

George  Kyle. 
Dutifuls,  The.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Father  Paul.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Fashionable  Hospitality.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Fashionable  Vacation,  A.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Felinaphone,  The.    George  Kyle. 
Fireman,  The.    R.  T.  Conrad. 
Fisherman's  Wife,  The. 
Fortune-Teller  and  Maiden.    Mrs.  Mary  L. 

Gaddess. 
Frightened  Woman,  A.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Good  Little  Boy  and  the  Bad  Little  Boy,  The.( 

George  Kyle. 
Great  Man,  A.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 
Her  Fifteen  Minutes.    Tom  Masson. 
Her  First  Steam-Engine.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas 


Any  number,  35  cts.  in  paper;   60  ets,  i.n  cloth. 

New  York. 


Ed-  ar  S.  Werner,  Publisher, 


liist  of  Contents  of  "Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations. 


Her  Heart  was  False  and  Mine  was  Broken, 
Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Her  Preference. 

High  Art  and  Economy.    George  Kyle. 

Hoolahan  on  Education.    George  Kyle. 

How  Salvator  Won.    Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

In  Amity  of  Soul.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Innocent  Drummer,  The.  Recitation  Lesson- 
Helps  by  F.  W.  Adams. 

Juggler,  The.    George  Kyle. 

Knight  and  the  Lady,  The.    R.  Trowbridge. 

Legend  of  Arabia,  A. 

Legend  of  the  Willow  Pattern  Plate. 

Le  Mauvais  Larron.    Graham  R.  Tomson. 

Love's  Reminiscences.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Miaouletta.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Mothers  and  Fathers.  Two  Pictures.  Mary 
Kyle  Dallas. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Popperman. 

Mrs.  Britzenhoeffer's  Troubles.    Geo.  Kyle. 

Mrs.  Pickles  Wants  to  be  a  Man.  M.K.Dallas. 

Mrs.  Slowly  at  the  Hotel.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Mrs.  Smith  Improves  her  Mind.  Mary  Kyle 
Dallas. 

Mrs.  Tubbs  and  Political  Economy.  Mary 
Kyle  Dallas. 

Mrs.  Winkle's  Grandson.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

My  First  School. 

My  Love. 

My  Sweetheart's      by  Brother.  M.K.Dallas. 

"N"for  Nannie  and  "B"  for  Ben.  Mary 
Kyle  Dallas. 


Nettie  Budd  before  her  Second  Ball.  Mary 
Kyle  Dallas. 

New  Version  of  a  Certain  Historical  Dia- 
logue, A.    Robert  J.  Burdette. 

Old,  Old  Story,  The.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

On  the  Beach. 

Out  of  the  Bottle.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Pat's  Perplexity. 

Paying  her  Fare.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Professor  Gunter  on  Marriage.    Geo.  Kyle. 

Rebecca's  Revenge.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Sad  Fate  of  a  Policeman,  The. 

Scene  in  a  Street  Car.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Simon  Solitary's  Ideal  Wife.     M.  K.  Dallas. 

Slowlys  at  the  Photographer's,  The.  Mary 
Kyle  Dallas. 

Slowlys  at  the  Theatre,  The.    M.  K.  Dallas. 

Statue's  Story,  The.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Street  Cries. 

Suppose.    T.  H.  Robertson. 

Thikhed's  New  Year's  Call. 

Thoughts  at  a  Party.    Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

To  A.  M.  Olar ;  An  Old  Man's  Memories. 
Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 

Tragedy  at  Dodd's  Place,  The.    M.  K.  Dallas 

Tried.    Lulah  Ragsdale. 

Twilight  Pastoral.  A 

Two  Opinions  of  One  House.    M.  K.  Dallas. 

War's  Sacrifice. 

What  He  Would  Give  Up. 

What  the  Crickets  Said.    M  X  Dallas. 

"You  Git  Up  ! "    "Joe  "  Kerr. 


No.  4.— COMPILED  BY  ELSIE  M.  WILBOR 


Abandoned  Troop  Horse,  The.  M.  A.  Rocke. 

Abraham  Lincoln.    Tom  Taylor. 

Afeared  of  a  Gal. 

All  Mankind  are  Trees. 

Annihilation.    George  Chinn. 

Archie's  Mother.    Rose  Hartwick  Thorpe. 

Baby's  Correspondence.    Alice  P.  Carter. 

Birds'  Departure,  The. 

Blind-Man 's-Buff.    Gertrude  Hall. 

Boum-Boum.  Jules  Claretie.  Arr.  by  Elsie 
M.  Wilbor. 

Boy's  Composition  on  Physiology,  A. 

Brave  Love. 

Bundle  of  Loves,  A.    Mrs.  Mary  L.  Gaddess. 

Changing  Color.    Hattie  G.  Canfield. 

Clearing  up  Technicalities. 

Concert  in  the  Wood,  The. 

Coward,  The.    James  Newton  Matthews. 

Danger  Signal,  The. 

Deeoration  Day.    Mrs.  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

Defense  of  the  Bride,  The.  Mrs.  Anna  Kath- 
arine Green  Rohlfs. 

Difference,  A. 

Does  a  Two- Year-Old  Baby  Pay  ? 

Drummer  Boy  of  Mission  Ridge,  The.  Kate 
Brownlee  Sherwood. 

Elder  Lamb's  Donation.    Will  Carleton. 

Encore. 

Family  Drum  Corps,  A.    Malcolm  Douglas. 

Father's  Way.    Eugene  Field. 

Fearful  Fright,  A. 

Fishing  Party,  The.    Jas.  Whitcomb  Riley. 

Fly,  The.    Monologue  for  a  man. 

Gift  that  None  Could  See,  The.  Mary  E. 
Wilkins. 


Going  Down  to  Mary's, 

Grandma's  Garden. 

Guido   Ferranti.      Oscar  Wilde.      Arr.    by 

Elsie  M.  Wilbor. 
Hans  Vogel.    Robert  Buchanan. 
Hippodrome  Race,  The.    G.  Moritz  Ebers. 

Arr.  by  Elsie  M.  Wilbor. 
How  Tom  Saved  the  Train.   George  Birdseye. 
How  the  Organ  was  Paid  for.    K.  A.  Bradley. 
I  Love  You.    Monologue  for  a  lady. 
Indecision. 
In  November. 
Jewels  She  Lacked,  The. 
Jinny.    Mrs.  Eva  Wilder  McGlasson. 
Joan  of  Arc  in  Prison.    Mrs.  L.  J.  B.  Case. 
Knitting.    J.  S.  Cutter. 
Lady  of  Shalott,  The.    Mrs.  E.  S.  P.  Ward. 
Legend  of  Ogre  Castle,  The.      T.  D.  English. 
Love-Making.    Mrs.  Rebecca  M.  Reavis. 
Love  and  Theology. 
Mabel. 

Marthy  Virginia's  Hand.    G.  P.  Lathrop. 
Mattie's  Retort. 
Mind  Your  P's. 
Mistakes  Will  Occur. 
Mrs.  Brindle's  Music  Lesson. 
Mrs.  Greylock  Tells  about  the  Play. 
My  Dog  and  I.    Mrs.  Marie  More  Marsh. 
My  Grandmother's  Fan.    Samuel  M.  Peck. 
My  Little  Bo-Peep.    Frank  E.  Bolliday. 
My  Neighbor  Jim.    O.  F.  Pearre. 
My  Rival.    Rudyard  Kipling. 
New-Fashioned  Singin'.    Henry  B.  Smith. 
Not  Willing. 
Obstinate  Old  Man,  An.    George  Horton. 


Any  number,  35  cts.  in  paper ;   60  cts.  in  cloth..    Edgar  S.  Werner,  Publisher, 

New  ^orlt. 


List  of  Contents  01  Werner's  Headings  and  Recitation*. 


Old  Ace.    Fred  E.  Brooks. 

Old  Cradle,  The.    E.  M.  Griffith. 

Old  Sweetheart  of  Mine,  An.    J.  W.  Riley, 

One-Legged  Goose,  The.    F.  H.  Smith. 

Only  Joe.    James  Rowan  Reed. 

Only  Once. 

Palestine.    Fred  Emerson  Brooks. 

Parlor  Lamp,  The.  Maurice  E.  McLoughlin. 

Passing  Show,  Th„.    Charles  Henry  Luders. 

Plantation  Pictures.    Andrews  Wilkinson. 

Planting  of  the  Apple-Tree,  The.    William 

Cullen  Bryant. 
Post  That  Fitted,  The.    Rudyard  Kipling. 
Repentance. 

Reproach,  A.    Flavel  Scott  Mines. 
Runaway,  The,    James  Whitcomb  Riley. 
Scottish  Ballad,  A.    William  Lyle. 
Search  for  Happiness,  The.    Mrs.  Mary  L. 

Gaddess. 


Slumber  Song,  A.    A.  Holcombe  Aiken. 

Song  of  the  Spinning- Wheel,  The. 

Spelling  Lesson,  The. 

Teddy  O'Rourke.    Malcolm  Douglas. 

Telling  Fortunes.    George  H.  Jessqp. 

Toccoa,  the  Beautiful.    Mrs.  L.  K.  Rogers. 

Told  by  the  Hospital  Nurse.   S.  B.  McBeath, 

"  Twinkle,  Twinkle,  Little  Star." 

Valuable  Postcript,  A. 

What  i    Fan.    ?    J.  H.  Stedman. 

When  Father   Carves    the  Duck.      E.   V. 

Wright. 
When  the  xlammock  Swing*.  E.  A.  Oldham. 
"  Whin-poor- Will."    Clarence  Bennett. 
Why?" 

Why  the  Cows  Come  Late.  John  Hoynton, 
Willow-Tree,  Th^,  William  M.  Thackeray. 
Woman's  Way,  A. 


No.  5.— AMERICAN  CLASSICS.    Compiled  by  Sara  Sigoukney  Rick. 


Acadian  Exiles,  The.    George  Bancroft. 
Alexander   Breaking   Bucephalus     George 

Lansing  Taylor. 
Angelo.     Stuart  Sterne. 
Armorer's  Errand,  The.    Julia  C  R.  Dorr. 
Brahmin's  Son,  The.     Richard  H.  Stoddard. 
Calmest  of  Her  Sex,  The.    Orpheus  C.  Kerr. 
Calpumia.     Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen. 
Carlo  and  the  Freezer.    T.  DeWitt  Talmage. 
Cavalry  Charge,  The.    George  P.  Lathrop. 
Christian  Martyr,  The.    William  Ware. 
Christmas  Day,  For.  Hezekiah  Butterworth. 
Columbus  Landing  in  the  New  World.    W. 

Irving. 
Corn.     Sidney  Lanier. 
Countess  Laura.    George  Henry  Boker. 
Courage.     William  Ellery  Channing. 
Culprit  Fay,  The.    Joseph  Rodman  Drake. 
Evangeline.    Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
Fairy  of  the  DelL  The.    Alice  Cary. 
Fallow  Field,  The.    Julia  C.  R.  Dorr. 
Farewell  Address.     George  Washington. 
Fire,  The.     Margaret  Deland. 
Forest  Hymn,  A.     William  Cullen  Bryant. 
Fountain,  The.    William  Cullen  Bryant. 
Four  Ages  of  Man,  The.    Anne  Bradstreet. 
Frolic  of  the  Carnival,  A.     N.  Hawthorne. 
Gallop  of  Three,  The.     Theodore  Winthrop. 
"Advance."    Frank  H.  Gassaway. 
My  Valentine.    Jennie  L.  Hopkins. 
Ghost  Story,  A.    Mark  Twain. 
Good  and  Bad  Spelling.  Benjamin  Franklin. 
Mariquita.    Ella  S.  Cummins. 
House  with  the  Cross,  The.    F.  W.  Snedeker. 
How  I  Was  Sold.    Mark  Twain. 
Iris,    Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


Israfel.    Edgar  Allen  Poe. 

Jeannie  Marsh.    George  Pope  Morris. 

Kubleh.    Bayard  Taylor. 

Little  Orator,  The.    Thaddeus  M.  Harris. 

Love  is  Blind. 

Lyman  Beecher's  First  Home.    L.  Beecher. 

Manners.    Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Marguerite.    John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

Mountain  Tragedy,  A.    Charles  D.  Warner. 

Mrs.  Partington's  Reflections  on  New  Year's 
Day.    Benjamin  Penhallow  Shillaber. 

Old  Quarrel,  An.  Frances  Courtenay  Baylor. 

Paper.    Benjamin  Franklin. 

Raschi  in  Prague.    Emma  Lazarus. 

Renowned  Wouter  van  Twiller,  The.  Wash- 
ington Irving. 

Roman  Father,  The.    John  Howard  Payne. 

Snow-Storm,  The.     Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

Song  of  Rebecca,  the  Jewess. 

Stand  !  The  Ground's  Your  Own.  John 
Pierpont. 

Storm — The  King.    Francis  Miles  Finch. 

Story  of  an  Ambuscade,  The.  P.  H.  Hayne. 

Soldier's  Retrospect,  A.    K.  B.  Sherwood. 

Story  of  Echo,  The. 

Susan's  Escort.    Edward  Everett  Hale. 

Three  Sundays  in  a  Week.    Edgar  A.  Poe. 

Three  Visitors.    Lucy  H.  Hooper. 

Transferred  Ghost,  The.     F.  R.  Stockton. 

True  to  Life.    Anna  F.  Burnham. 

Tunkuntel,  The. 

Two  Pictures.    Marion  Douglas. 

Unknown  Speaker,  The. 

Vision  of  Sir  Launf  al,  The.    J.  R.  Lowell, 

Yankee  Man-of-War.  The. 

Naming  the  Baby. 


No.  6.— COMPILED  BY  ELSLE  M.  WTLBOR. 


Annunciation,  The.    Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 

Arnold  at  Stillwater.  Thomas  Dunn  English. 

Battle  of  Lepanto,  The. 

Becalmed  at  Sea.    Samuel  K.  Cowan. 

Bee's  Sermon,  The. 

Boy's  Composition  on  Breathing,  A. 

Casualty,  A. 

Challenge,  The.     Roger  Atkinson  Pryor. 

Any  number,  35  cts.  in  pap^T , 


Charity.    R.  W.  Lanigan. 

Childish  Fancy,  A. 

Christ  Child,  The.    Elsie  M.  Wflbor. 

Christmas  Flowers.    Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 

Christmas  Sheaf,  The.  Mrs.  A.  M.  Tomunson. 

Consternation. 

Cordelie.    Brother  Paul,  O.  S.  F. 

Dandelions,  The. 


SO  cts.  in  cloth-    Edgar  S.  Werner,  Publisher, 
New  York. 


last  of  Contents  of  Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations. 


Day  Too  Late,  A.    Magdalen  Rock. 

December.    Rt.  Rev.  W.  C.  Doane. 

Down  in  the  Strawberry  Bed. 

Drummer  Boy  of  Kent,  The. 

Elixir  of  Life,  The.    Wm.  MoGilL 

Encore. 

Friar  Servetus.     Clifford  Lanier. 

Funeral  of  the  Mountains,  The.  F.  E.  Brooks. 

Harvest  Drill.     Arr.  by  Sara  S-  Rice. 

How  They  Caught  the  Panther.  A.  J.  Hough. 

Ivory  Crucifix,  The.    G.  H.  Miles. 

Japanese  Parasol  and  Fan  Drill.    Mrs.  Mary 

L.  Gaddess. 
King's  Bell.    The. 

King's  Joy  Bells,  The.    Mrs.  K.  A.  Bradley. 
Lady  Hildegarde,  The. 
Lass  Dorothy. 
Legend  of  the  Heather. 
Legend  of  the  Lily,  The.    Annie  Wall. 
Legend  of  the  Missions,  The.    Lee  C.  Harby. 
Lesson  in  Weighing,  A.    Charles  R.  Talbot. 
Life's  Day.     Tableau  Recitation.    Mrs.  Mary 

L.  Gaddess. 
Little  Pilgrim,  A. 

Little  Tin  Cup,  The.    Thomas  Frost. 
Long  Ago.    Mrs.  Libbie  C.  Baer. 
May  Days. 

Monks'  Magnificat,  The.    E.  Nesbit. 
My  Twentieth  Birthday.    M.  K. 
Nightingale,  The.    Louis  E.  Van  Norman. 
No. 

Orphan's  Dream  of  Christmas,  The. 
Palmer's  Vision,  The.    Josiah  G.  Holland. 
Rabbi  and  the  Prince,  The.    J.  C.  Harvey. 
Rescued. 

Rodney's  Ride.    Elbridge  S.  Brooks. 
Saint  Anthony.    Mrs.  E.  W.  Latimer. 
Saint  Patrick  and  the  Impostor.    A.  DeVere. 


Saint  Ursula.    John  RusMn. 

Santa  Claus. 

Shakespearean  Perversion,  A. 

Sicilian  Captive,  The.    Mrs.  Felicia  Hemans. 

Somebody's  Boy. 

Something  Great.     F.  Tyler. 

Song  of  the  Locomotive,  The. 

Song  of  the  Wind,  The. 

Tale  of  the  Terrible  Fire. 

Telemachus.     G.  M.  Sheldon. 

Tennis  Drill.    Mrs.  Mary  Drew  Wilson. 

Thanksgiving  Eve. 

Three  Little  Kittens. 

Three  Missions,  The.    Mrs.  L.  K.  Rogers. 

Tintamarre,  The.    Julia  M.  Ryan. 

Tree-Tise  on  Nature,  A.    Louis  H.  Levin. 

Turn  of  the  Tide,  The.    Rose  Kavanagh. 

Two  Brothers,  The. 

Two  Chimneys,  The.    Philip  B.  Strong. 

Unseen  Yet  Seen. 

Vesper  Bell,  The.    Eugene  Davis. 

Virgin  with  the  Bells,  The.    Austin  Dobson. 

Vision  of  St.  Dominic,  The. 

Vision  of  Handel,  The.    P.  L.  Blatchford. 

Way,  The.     William  Steele  Shurtleff. 

What  Echo  Said. 

What  is  To-morrow  ? 

What  Lottie  Saw.    E.  L.  Brown. 

When  Old  Jack  Died.    James  W.  Riley. 

White  Hearse,  The. 

Why  the  Robin's  breast  is  Red.    James  R. 

Randall. 
"Will   My  Soul   Pass   Through  Ireland?" 

Dennis  O'Sullivan. 
William  Tell  and  His  Son.    Martha  J.  Nott, 
Work  That  is  Best,  The.    Carlotta  Perry. 
Wreck  of  the  Solent,  The.    Frederick  Lyster. 
Writing  on  the  Dnage,  The.    William  Morris. 


No.  7.— COMPILED  BY  ELSIE  M.  WDLBOR. 


About  Barbers. 

After  Frost. 

Alice  Maude. 

Ambitious  Marguerite,  The.  Agnes  Carr 
Sage. 

Ancient  Spanish  Lyric. 

Appeal,  An. 

At  a  Dinner  Party. 

At  the  Book  Counter. 

At  the  Restaurant. 

Bachelor's  Love  Song,  A.    J.  H.  Ryan. 

Ballad  of  East  and  West,  A.  Rudyard 
Kipling. 

Jefore  and  After  School. 

Billy  Snip. 

Bivouac  by  the  Rappahannock.  Grace  Duf- 
fle Roe. 

Boblink's  Song,  The.    Stanley  Waterloo. 

But .    BeUe  Hunt. 

Cautious  Wooer,  A.     Miller  Vinton. 

Christmas  Repentance,  A.  (In  French  and 
in  English.)    Sarah  Bernhardt 

City  Mystery,  A.    Amy  Randolph. 

Conductor's  Story,  The.  Maurice  E.  Mc- 
Loughlin. 

Convict  and  Soldier. 

Corsican  Vendetta;  or  Love's  Triumph,  The. 

Croquet. 

Dancing  in  the  Flat  Creek  Quarters.  John 
A.  Macon. 


Daniel  O'Connell's  Humor. 

Day  Before  Thanksgiving,  The.    Frank  S. 

Pixley. 
Dead  Love. 

Drug  Clerk's  Trials,  A. 
Ebo.    A.  C.  Gordon. 
Two  Girls  of  1812. 

Enj'yin'  Poor  Health.    George  Horton. 
Fairy  Bell.    Marion  Short. 
Fan  Brigade,  The.    Ella  Sterling  Cummins. 
Fireman's  Prize,  The. 
Flat  Story,  A. 
From  a  Future  Novel. 
Genius,  A.    James  Noel  Johnson. 
Ghost  of  Lone  Rock.    Clara  M.  Howard. 
Girl  that  I  Didn't  Get,  The. 
Girl's  Essay  on  Boys,  A. 
Grandma's  Wedding-Day.    T.  C.  Harbaugh. 
Her  Name  was  Smith. 
Our  Heroes.    O.  F.  Pearre. 
His  Oath. 

How  Grandpa  Proposed. 
How  I  Kissed  Her.    G.  M.  Ritchie. 
How  to  Eat  a  'Possum. 
How  We  Hung  Red  Shed.    Joaquin  Miller. 
Idyl,  An.    C.  G.  Buck. 
In  Terror  of  Death.    Pedro  de  Alarcon. 
Jasmine   Flower,  The.     Monologue    for   a 

Man.    Saint  Juirs. 
Jenny's  White  Rose.    Mrs.  H.  E.  M.  Allen. 


Any  number,  35  cts.  in  paper  ;  60  cts.  in  cloth. 

JJevv  York. 


Edgar  S.  "Werner,  Publisher, 


1,1st  of  Contents  of  Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations. 


Jephthah's  Daughter.    Rev.  W.  W  Marsh. 
Knight  of  Toggenburg,  The.    JohannC.   F. 

von  Schiller. 
Lady  with  a  Train,  The. 
Last  Redoubt,  The.    Alfred  Austin. 
Last  Roll-Gall,  The.    M.  Quad. 
Legend  of  the  True,  A-     Marietta  F.  Cloud. 
Lenora.    Gottfried  August  Burger.    Trans. 

by  Alfred  Ayres. 
Little  Paul's  Thanksgiving. 
Lord  Ullin's  Daughter.    Thomas  Campbell. 
Love  Stronger  than  Locks. 
Man  Wants  but  Little  Here  Below. 
Match-Making  Mamma,  The. 
Me  an1  Jim. 

Modern  Elijah,  A.    Richard  Yorke. 
Moose  Hunt,  The. 

My  Chillun's  Pictyah.    Anne  V.  Culbertson. 
New  Year's  Story,  A.    James  Challen. 
Not  all  Imagination. 

Ode  to  a  Skylark.    Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 
Of  the  Child  with  the  Bird  at  the  Bush. 

John  Bunyan. 
Old      City     Church,    The.      Frederic      E. 

Weatherly. 
Old  Fire-Dog,  The.    Thomas  Frost. 
Our  Drummer  Boy.    Fred  Hildreth. 
Our  Heroes.    O.  F.  Pearre. 
Papa  and  the  Boy.    J.  L.  Harbour. 


Passed  Off  the  Stage.    James  Buckhara. 

Phenomenal  Baby,  A. 

Pickaninny,  The. 

Prophetic  Mirror,  A.    Carlisle  Smith. 

Quiet  Evening  at  Cards,  A. 

Repenfcir  de  Noel.    Sarah  Bernhardt. 

Resurrected  Hearts,  The.  Josie  Frazee  Cap. 

pieman. 
"Rock  of  Ages."    Frank  L.  Stanton. 
School  Episode,  A. 
She  Wouldn't  Listen. 
Songs    My  Mother  Sung,  The.     Edgar   L. 

Wakeman. 
Supposin'.     Eva  Wilder  McGlasson. 
Taking  the  Veil.    Tom  Masson. 
Telephone  at  Rome,  The.    Monologue  for  a 

man. 
That  Boy  Jim.    Frank  L.  Stanton. 
Then  and  Now. 

Treasures.     Katie  H.  Eavanagh. 
Two  Girls  of  1812. 
Waterloo.    Douglas  Sladen. 
What  the  Lord  Had  Done  for  Him.    Mrs. 

Findley  Braden. 
What's  the  Difference?    O.  F.  Pearre. 
Why  They  Didn't  Bow. 
Wife's  Confession,  A.    Violet  Fane. 
With  Clearer  Vision.    Carlotta  Perry. 
Woman's  Hate,  A. 


No.  8.— FIRST  PRIZE,  PART  I.    Compiled  by  Jean  Carruthers. 


Avenging  Childe,  The.    J.  G.  Lockhart. 
Bard  and  the  Cricket,  The.    Robert  Brown- 
ing 
Bazaar  Girl,  The.    Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 
Black  Veil,  The.    Charles  Dickens. 
Cavalier's  Choice,  The.    Johann  Wolfgang 

von  Goethe. 
Christmas  Guests.    Lindsay  Duncan. 
Cid  and  the  Leper,  The.    J.  G.  Lockhart. 
Count  Ludwig  and  the  Wood-Spirit.    Dinah 

M.  Craik. 
Dancing-Girl,  The.    Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 
Day-Dream,  The.     Alfred  Tennyson. 
Dead  Letter,  A.     Austin  Dobson. 
Death  of  Cleopatra,  The.    Horace— Ode  1. 
Dog  of  Flanders,  A.    Louise  de  la  Rame. 
Execution  of  Sydney  Carton,  The.     Charles 

Dickens. 
Festival  of  the  Supreme  Being,  The.    Ivan 

TourgeDieff. 
Fra  Luigi's  Marriage.    H.  H. 
French  Market,  The.    W.  P.  J. 
Girl  with  the  Thirty -Nine  Lovers,  The. 
Hunting  Tower. 
Inkerman.    Charles  Mackay. 
Jarl   Sigurd's     Christmas    Eve.     Hjalrnar 

Hjorth  Boyesen 
Joan  of  Arc     Jules  Michelet. 
Jock  of  Hazeldean.    Sir  Walter  Scott. 
King  is   Dead,   Long   Live  the  Kin£,  The. 

Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 
King's  Wooing,  The.    Edward  Renaud. 
Letter  of  Advice,  A.    Winthrop  M.  Praed. 
Little  Sigrid.    Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen. 
Lord  Thomas;  ne  and  Fair  Ellinnor. 
Love.    Samuel  T.  Cole'-idge. 


Mascha.    Ivan  Tourgenieff. 

Mr.  Copernicus  and  the  Proletariat.    H.  C. 

Bunner. 
Of  Course  They  Met. 
On  the  Brink.    C.  S.  Calverly. 
One  Way  of  Love.    Robert  Browning. 
One  Word.     Wallace  Bruce. 
Only  a  Soldier. 
Page  and  the  Maid  of  Honor,  The.    Johann 

Wolfgang  von  Goethe. 
Pilgrimage  to  Kevlar.  The,    Heinrich  Heine. 
Scene  from  "Fleurange."    Mme.  Augustus 

Craven. 
Scene  from    "The    Honeymoon."  Act  n.. 

Scene  2.    John  Tobin. 
Scene  from  "The  Hunchback."    Act  IV., 

Scene  1.    James  Sheridan  Knowles. 
Seven  Sleepers    of   Ephesus,  The.    Johann 

Wolfgang  von  Goethe. 
Song    of    the    Market  Place,  The.    James 

Buckham. 
Spectre  of  the  Rose,  The.    Theophile  Gau- 

tier. 
Staff  and  Scrip,  The.    Dante  Gabriel  Ros- 

setti.* 
Stage  Adventuress,  The.  Jerome  K.  Jerome. 
Stage  Detective  and  Peasants,  The.  Jerome 

K.  Jerome. 
Stage  Heroine,  The.    Jerome  K.  Jerome. 
Statue  and  the  Bust.  The.  Robert  Browning. 
Tenor,  The.    H.  C.  Bunner. 
Tittlebat  Titmouse's  Experiment.    Samuel 

Warren. 
Zai're.    Voltaire. 
Zamora,  Scene    from   "The  Honeymoon." 

Act  I . ,  Scene  1 .    John  Tobin. 


Any  nwinber,  35  cts.  in  paper  ;  GO  cts.  in  cloth. 
„-,  .     New  KorK.. 


Edgar  S.  "Werner,  Publisher, 


list  of  Contents  o-  Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations. 

No.  9.— FIRST  PRIZE,  PAET  II.    Compiled  by  Jean  Carruthers. 


Alice  Du  Clos.    Samuel  T.  Coleridge. 

Alms,  An.    Ivan  Tourgeneiff. 

Anselmo,  the  Priest.    Constance  Faunt  Le 

Roy  Runcie. 
April  Day,  An.    Helen  E.  Brown. 
Bay  Logic.    Helen  M.  Winslow. 
Bristol  Figure,  A.    Cosmo  Monkhouse. 
Bush    Study,  a    la    Watteau,  A.     Arthur 

Patchett  Martin. 
Casket    Scene,    The.      "The    Merchant  of 

Venice."    William  Shakespeare. 
Death    of    Elizabeth,  The.    ..John  Richard 

Green. 
Dorothy's  Auction.    A.  G.  Plympton. 
Enchanted  Oak,  The.    O.  Herford. 
Fairest    Flower,    The.    Johann    Wolfgang 

von  Goethe. 
First  Quarrel,  The.    Alfred  Tennyson. 
Flower's  Name,  The.    Robert  Browning. 
Goldsmith's  Daughter,  The.    Johann  Lud- 

wig  Uhland. 
Gonello. 

Good  Deeds.    Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 
Guitare.    Victor  Hugo. 
Hanging  a  Picture.    Jerome  K.  Jerome. 
Happy  Beauty  and  the  Blind  Slave,  The. 

Edward  Bulwer-Lytton. 
Herr  Slossenn  Boschen's  Song.    Jerome  K. 

Jerome. 
Hugo  Grotius.    August  Friedrich  Ferdinand 

Kotzebue. 
Hunchback,  The     Act  I.,  Scene  2.    James 

Sheridan  Knowles. 
Hush.    Adelaide  Anne  Procter. 
In  a  Garden.    Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 
Josiah   at  the  Various    Springs.    Marietta 

Holley. 
Jubilee  of    the    Flowers,   The.    Sarah    E. 

Howard. 
King  Lear.    Act  I.,  Scene  1.  William  Shake- 
speare. 
Laboratory,  The.    Robert  Browning. 


Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship.  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Browning. 

Lord  Ronald's  Bride.  Edward  Bulwer- 
Lytton. 

Lord  Walter's  Wife.  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning. 

Mr.  Harris'  Comic  Song.  Jerome  K. 
Jerome. 

Mocking -Bird,  The. 

Modest  Maid,  The.    A.  H.  Morris. 

Moses  and  the  Angel.    Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 

Negro  Sermon  on  Memory,  A. 

Nine  Cent  Girls,  The.    H.  C.  Bunner. 

Nine  Graves  in  Edinboro.    Irwin  Russell. 

Notes  of  a  Honeymoon.    Austin  Dobson. 

Obstructive  Hat  in  the  Pit,  The.    F.  Anstey. 

Orphan  Maid,  The.    Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Pariah,  The.    Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe. 

Persephone.    Jean  Ingelow. 

Piclrwicldans  Taken  for  Informers,  but  Res- 
cued by  the  Stranger,  The.  Charles 
Dickens. 

Poor  Irish  Boy,  The.    Eliza  Cook. 

Regulus.    Emily  A.  Braddock. 

Revenge.    Annie  R.  Blount. 

Binger's  Vengeance,  The.    Henry  Abbey. 

Romeo  and  Juliet.  Act  II.,  Scene  5.  William 
Shakespeare. 

Rosicrucian,  The.    Dinah  M.  Craik. 

Stage  Hero,  The.    Jerome  K.  Jerome. 

Stanzas  to  My  Nose. 

Story  of  a  Short  Life,  The.  Juliana  Horatia 
Ewing. 

Story  of  Fifty-Two  Prayer-Meetings. 

Story  of  Rosina,  The.    Austin  Dobson. 

Talented  Man,  The.    Winthrop  M.  Praed. 

Tru*  Bostonian,  A. 

Twa  Sisters  o'  Binnorie,  The. 

Wee  Willie  Winkle.    Rudyard  Kipling. 

William  the  Conqueror.     Edward  A.  Free- 


NO.  10—  COMPILED  BY  CAROLINE  B.  LE  ROW. 


America.    William  Cullen  Bryant. 
America  to  Great  Britain.    W.  Allston. 
American  Flag,  The.    Henry  W.  Beeeher. 
Battle  above  the  Clouds,  The.     T.  Brown. 
Battle  of  Lookout  Mountain,  The.    George 

H.  Boker. 
Battle  of  the  Cowpens,  The.    Thomas  D. 

English. 
Battle  of  Tippecanoe,  The. 
Battle  Poem,  A.    Benjamin  F.  Taylor. 
Bay  Fight,  The.    Henry  H.  Brownell. 
Bell  of  Liberty,  The.    J.  T.  Headley. 
Bethel.    A.  J.  H.  Duganne. 
Birthday  of  the  Republic,  The.    T.  Paine. 
Boy  Britton  (August,  1814).    F.  Willson. 
Bull  Run  (Sunday,  July  21).    A.  B.  Haven. 
Bunker  Hill.    George  H.  Calvert. 
Bunker's  Hill.    John  Neal. 
Captain  Molly  at  Monmouth.    W.  Collins. 
Capture  of  Quebec,  The.    W.  Warburton. 
Capture  of  Ticonderoga,  The.    E.  Allen. 
Cassy.    Harriet  Beeeher  Stowe. 
Cavalry  Scout,  The.    Edmund  us  Scotus. 


Centennial  of  1876,  The.    William  Evarts. 
Change  of  Base,  A.    Albion  W.  Tourgee. 
Charter  Oak,  The.    George  D.  Prentice. 
Christopher  C. 

Colonization  of  America.  The.    Prescott. 
Columbia  and.  Liberty.    Robert  T.  Paine. 
Columbia's  Emblem.    Edna  D.  Proctor. 
Columbus.    Aubrey  De  Vere. 
Columbus.    James  Russell  Lowell. 
Columbus.    Joaquin  Miller. 
Columbus.    Lydia  H.  Sigourney. 
Columbus.    Thomas  C.  Adams. 
Columbus  to  Ferdinand.    J.  Mason. 
Cruise  of  the  Monitor,  The.    G.  M.  Baker. 
Dangers  to  Our  Republic.    Horace  Mann. 
Death  of  Harrison.    N.  P.  Willis. 
Death  of  King  Philip.    W.  Irving. 
Declaration  of  Independence,  July  4, 1776. 
Declaration  of  Independence,  The.    Carl 

Discovery  of  America,  The.    W.  Irving. 
Discovery  of  the  Hudson  River,  The.    W. 
Irving. 


Any  number,   35  ets.  in  paper;   60  cts,  in  cloth.    Edgar  S.  Werner, 
Publisher,  New  York. 


List  of  Contents  of  Werner's  Readings  and  Recitations. 


Discovery  of  the  Mississippi  River,  The.  G. 
Bancroft. 

Eloquence  of  Revolutionary  Periods,  The. 
Rufus  Choate. 

Fathers  of  New  England,  The.  Charles 
Sprague. 

Fields  of  War,  The.    Isaac  McLellan,  Jr. 

Fifer  and  Drummer  of  Scituate,  The.  S. 
H.  Palfrey. 

Fight  of  Lookout,  The.    R.  L.  Cary,  Jr. 

For  Freedom.    Edna  Dean  Proctor. 

Fourth  of  July.    George  W.  Bethune. 

Freemen's  Defence,  The.    H.  B.  Stowe. 

From  the  Old  World  to  the  New.  L.  M. 
Hadley. 

Gray  Forest  Eagle,  The.    Alfred  B.  Street. 

High  Tide  at  Gettysburg.  W.  H.  Thomp- 
son. 

History  of  Our  Flag.    Rev.  A.  B.  Putnam. 

In  Memory  of  the  Pilgrims.    G.  Mellen. 

Indian  Hunter,  The.    H.  W.  Longfellow. 

Indian  Names.    Lydia  H.  Sigourney. 

Indian  Warrior's  Last  Song,  The.  J.  H. 
Wert. 

Indians,  The.    Joseph  Story. 

Joshua  of  1776,  The.    W.  R.  Rose. 

Keynote  of  Abolition,  The.  W.  L.  Garri- 
son. 

King  Cotton.    Robert  Mackenzie. 

Lexington.    Prosper  M.  Wetmore. 

Little  Giffen.    Dr.  Francis  O.  Ticknor. 

Lost  War-Sloop,  The.  (The  Wasp,  1814.) 
Edna  Dean  Proctor. 

Marion's  Dinner.    Edward  C.  Jones. 

Marquis  do  La  Fayette.    Charles  Sumner. 

Mayjloiver.  The.    Erastus  W.  Ellsworth. 

Meaning  of  the  Four  Centuries,  The. 

Mrs.  Christopher  Columbus.  M.  S.  Cowell. 

My  Country.    George  E.  Woodbury. 

Nation  Born  in  a  Day,  A.    J.  Q.  Adams. 

National  Hymn.    F.  Marion  Crawford. 

New  England.    James  Gates  Percival. 


Nineteenth  of  April,  1861,  The.  L.  Larcom. 
North  American  Indians.  Chas.  Sprague. 
On  Board  the  Cumberland,  March  7,  186& 

George  H.  Boker. 
On    the    Declaration   of    Independence. 

Richard  S.  Storrs,  D.D. 
Piccioli. 

Pilgrim  Fathers,  The.  Isaac  McLellan,  Jr. 
Pilgrim's  Vision,  The.  Oliver  W.  Holmes. 
Predictions  Concerning  the  Fourth  of  July. 

John  Adams. 
Present  Crisis,  The.    James  R.  Lowell. 
Quarrel  of  Squire  Bull  and  His  Son  Jona- 
than.   James  Kirk  Paulding. 
Queen  Isabella's  Resolve.    Epes  Sargent. 
Reason  Why,  The.    J.  P.  Prickett. 
Reawakening.    (1861-1889.)    Carl  Spencer. 
Return  of  Columbus,  The.    W.  H.  Prescott. 
Return  of  Columbus,  The.    Epes  Sargent. 
Rising  of  the  People,  The.    E.  J.  Cutler. 
Soliloquy  of  Arnold.    Edward  C.  Jones. 
South  in   the    Revolution,  The.   Robert 

Young  Hayne. 
Speech  of  Red  Jacket. 
Spool  of  Thread,  A.    Sophie  E.  Eastman. 
Stamp  Act,  The.    William  Grimshaw. 
Stonewall  Jackson's  Death.    P.  M.  RusselL 
Story  of  the  Swords,  The.    A.  C.  Waldron. 
To  a  Portrait  of  Red  Jacket.    Fitz-Greene 

HalleJk. 
True  Story  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Two  Banners  of  America,  The.    Herrick 

Johnson. 
Vicksburg.    Paul  Hamilton  Hayne. 
Vision  of  Liberty,  The.    Henry  Ware,  Jr. 
Washington  at  Valley  Forge .    T.  Parker. 
Washington's  Farewell  to  His  Army. 
What  Waked  the  World.    A.  W.  Tourgee. 
Women  of  the  Revolution.    Mary  E.  Blake. 
Wood  of  Chancellorsville,  The.    Delia  R. 

German. 


NO.   ll.-COMPILED  BY  SARA  SIGOURNEY  RICE. 


Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice.    Pigres. 

Battle  of  Waterloo,  The.    Victor  Hugo. 

Baucis  and  Philemon.    Jonathan  Swift. 

Beatrice.  From  '-Divine  Comedy."  Dante. 

Besieged  Castle,  The.    Walter  Scott. 

Birds,  The.    Aristophanes. 

Boadicea.    William  Co  \vper. 

Combat  between  Paris  and  Menelaus. 
Homer. 

Comedy  of  Errors.    Shakespeare. 

Council  of  the  Rats,  The.  Jean  de  la 
Fontaine. 

Destruction  of  Troy,  The.    Virgil. 

Dhoulkarnain.    From  the  "  Koran." 

Don  Quixote  and  the  Huntress.  Cer- 
vantes. 

Dorcas  and  Gregory.    Moliere. 

Edward  II.    Christopher  Marlowe. 

Enoch  Arden.    Alfred  Tennyson. 

Eve's  Mirror.    Milton. 

Feast  of  Roses,  The.    Thomas  Moore. 


Hermann  and  Dorothea.    Goethe. 

How  Lisa  Loved  the  King.    George  Eliot. 

How  Siegfried  was  Slain.  From  the  "  Nibe- 

lungen  Lied." 
In  the  Name  of  God,  the  Compassionate, 

the  Merciful.    From  the  "Koran." 
Isabella,  or  the  Pot  of  Basil.    John  Keats. 
Lady  of  Vain  Delight,  The.    G.  Fletcher. 
Legend  of  Aino,  The.    From  the  "Kale- 

vala." 
Mary  Stuart.    Schiller. 
Oak  and  the  Briere,  The.    E.  Spenser. 
Palamon  and  Arcite.    Chaucer. 
Pontius  Pilate.    Edwin  Arnold. 
Race,  The.    Lyof  Tolstoi. 
Rape  of  the  Lock,  The.    Alexander  Pope. 
Richelieu.     Bulwer-Lytton. 
Scripture  Etchings  for  Arbor  Day. 
Shepherd's  Song,  The.    Tasso. 
Siege  of  Corinth,  The.    Byron. 
Siege  of  Zamora,  The.    From  the  "  Cid." 


Any  number,   35  cts.  In  paper;   60  cts.  In  cloth.    Edgar  S.  Werner, 
Publisher,  New  York. 


New  and  Revised  Edition. -A  Text-Book  for  Schools  as  well  as  for  Self -Instruction. 

Americanized  Delsarte  Culture 

SELF-EXPRESSION   AND    HEALTH. 
By   EMILY   M.   BISHOP, 

Principal  of  Chautauqua  School  of  Expression,  Director  of  Chautauqua  Delsarte  Depart- 
ment,  Lecturer  at  Pratt  Institute,  BrooMyn,  Drexel  Imtitute,  Philadelphia,  etc. 

THERE  ARE  EXERCISES  TO 

Develop  the  lungs  and  chest.- Prevent  and  reduce  corpulency. 

—Allay  nervousness.— Promote  digestion.— Establish  a  natural 
standing  poise.— Establish  a  natural  sitting  poise.— Strengthen  the 
leg  muscles  and  ankles.— Overcome  round  shoulders.— Secure  good 
carriage.-Eelieve  insomnia. -Make  the  back  flexible. -Increase 
and  equalize  circulation  of  the  blood.— Counteract  stooping  at  the 
waist.— Make  the  muscles  strong  and  supple.— Increase  power 
through  breathing;  also  exercises  for  rest,  for  muscle  freedom,  tor 
invigoration,  for  harmony  of  movement. 


THE    AUTHOR    SAYS: 

"The  exercises  are  intended  to  meet 
the  varied  needs  of  the  different  members 
of  general  classes;  such  classes  being  us- 
ually composed  of  grandmothers,  mothers 
and  daughters— with  an  occasional  gentle- 
man In  order  to  make  the  teaching 
simple  and  direct,  all  technical  termi- 
nology has  been  avoided,  and  a  colloquial 
style  preferred;  every  exercise  is  explain- 
ed in  detail  and  particular  cautions  are 
given  regarding  incorrect  or  careless 
practicing.  It  is  hoped  that  all  who  read 
this  book  may  gain  new  inspiration  to 
make  the  body  a  fit  temple  for  the  in- 
dwelling soul." 


WHAT  MR.  S.  H.  CLABK, 

Of  tlie  University  of  Chicago, 

Says: 

"This  edition  contains  just  what  new 
editions  of  text-books  should  contain,  i.  e., 
the  result  of  experience  in  handling  the 
book  in  class.  The  new  chapter  on  "  Hints 
for  Study,"  with  its  paragraphs  of  advice 
to  teachers,  exactly  meets  the  demand. 
It  shows  the  earnest  student  how  to  work 
and  does  away  with  the  excuse  of  the  lazy 
ones  who  say:  We  want  to  study,  but 
don't  know  how  to  go  about  it.  Further- 
more, it  is  of  utmost  value  to  the  teacher 
who  appreciates  the  good  of  the  exercises, 
but  who  does  not  quite  know  xn  what 
order  to  teach  them.  This  new  edition  is 
facile  princeps  in  its  particular  held." 


\ 


NET    PRICE,    $1.00,    POSTPAID. 


Edgar  S.  Werner,  Publisher,  108  East  16th  St.,  New  York. 


flrtistic  flocutionarp  publications 

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦J* | 

i 


Romance  of 
»«  Ranges 


I  Sandalpbon 


POEM  BY 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 

Arranged  for  Entertainment  to  be  given 
by  seven  young  ladies 

By  Ella  H.  Denig 

Fourteen  superb  illustrations 
from  life.    Full  directions  given 

PRICE,  25  CENTS 


POEM  BY 
Henry  Wads-worth 
Longfellow  -  - 


Musical  Background  by 

Harvey  "Wortnington 
Loomis 


An  exquisite  musical  recitation  with 

beautiful  title-page.  Good  Literature 

Good  Music 

PRICE,  $1.00 


♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦»♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

♦ 
♦ 
♦ 
♦ 
♦ 
♦ 


fableaux  Mouvants 
and  Poses 
Plastiques 

No.  1.—  By  Clara  Power  Edgerly. 
Contains  :  "  The  Toilet  of  the  Bride," 
"The    Dance   of  the   Muses,"    "The 
Niobe     Group,"     "The      Death      of 
Virginia." 

No  2.— By  Margaret  Virginia  Jenkins 
Contains  :  "A  Charm  from  the  Skies," 
"The  Birds  Singing  Gaily,"  "Heaven- 
ly Home,"  "In  Sight  of  Home,"  "A 
Study  in  Attitude." 

No.  3.— By  Florence  Fowle  Adams. 
Contains:  "The  Muses,"  "Dressing 
the  Bride,"  "  Fannv  Davenport  as 
Cleopatra, "  "  Faith,  Hope,  and 
Charity." 


EACH  NUMBER,  25  CENTS 


SCARF 
FANTASTICS 


By 
ELIZABETH  A, 
MIDDLETON 

A  twenty-minutes'   iEsthetic  Drill  for 
Nine  Young  Ladies 

Twelve  Full-Page    Illustrations 
From  Life 

PRICE,   25    CENTS 


♦♦»»»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦*»»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 

€<isar  S.  W«rn«r»  Publisher,  108  ^Hf$>$tmt 


